


Flowers for Feliciano

by sayakamikiswife



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Forbidden Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-03-07 06:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18867232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayakamikiswife/pseuds/sayakamikiswife
Summary: (Based loosely off of Beauty and the Beast, fantasy AU).All that Feliciano Vargas knows is that he has been captured by the Beilschmidts and now works for one of them—Ludwig Beilschmidt, as well as the fact that his beloved grandfather likely started a movement against Germany. For the most part, Feliciano had accepted his life as Captain Ludwig Beilschmidt's (fearful) servant and chef. However, he gradually learns more about the truth behind his situation following a surreal and passionate night spent with Ludwig. Consequently, Feliciano finds himself trapped in a cage of politics, history, rivalries, and a secret that may shatter everything he cherishes.(contains a sex scene in the first chapter lmao)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HEY GUYS! IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO WRITE AND FIC AND HERE IT IS.  
> okay so hey my name is tiffany and i ship gerita. i spent more time writing this shit than i did doing schoolwork which is why im failing like every class jsjsjsjsjs. um i also happen to run a pretty ratchet fan account on instagram, @hetalinut, so drop a follow. i make templates and compilations and memes! if u want updates on this fic, i post on my story (usually bitching abt how lazy i am w updates despite the fact that i got nothing else to do). my hobbies include making hetalia memes, looking at hetalia memes, writing, and reading gerita fics. i also like watching movies and i love owls w deadass all my heart. okay that is it for now folks its ike 10:30 PM where im at rn and im so tired my lower back hurts from sitting on my chair writing this for like an hour thx love yall. and just for nostalgia and feels, auf wiedersehen, sweethearts ;-).

The mansion was quiet and still. It was always quiet and still. Despite its idle nature and lingering darkness, it reeked of unease. At least, it did for Feliciano.

To Feliciano, the mansion wasn’t merely a place of lethargy and isolation. To him, it housed terror. An unpredictable, inescapable terror. Yet, at times, such terror would deceive him, would masquerade as affection and compassion.

Such terror manifested itself in the form of Ludwig. At least, that’s what Feliciano had been told by his colleagues ever since he moved into that lifeless, bitter mansion as a live-in maid.

Ludwig Beilschmidt, who had inherited the home from Aldrich Beilschmidt. It was among many acres of land that Ludwig and his brother, Gilbert, inherited from Captain Aldrich Beilschmidt following his demise at the hands of a sniper during the march in Frankfurt. Gilbert was much more devastated about the loss than his younger brother, who had never bonded well with Aldrich when he was alive anyway. To Ludwig, it was more of a practical loss than a personal one. It seemed that to Ludwig, emotion was a hindrance and a disease that plagued humanity’s mind rather than a fundamental aspect of being a person.

That was exactly what terrified the entire manor most about Captain Ludwig Beilschmidt.

He had no heart, they said.

His eyes burnt through you like searing coal, they said.

He’d interrogate prisoners then turn around and issue harsh commands, they said.

So, it was fairly reasonable that Feliciano did his best to stay away from his mysterious and apparently dangerous employer. He worked as a head chef for the kitchen, and from what the head maid and his close friend, Elizabeta Hedervary, informed him, Captain Ludwig Beilschmidt enjoyed his homemade pasta more than anything else.

Feliciano was preparing for another day of rolling dough and picking fresh tomatoes from the large garden when his fratello, Lovino Vargas, stormed into the dormitory. “The master has guests over today. Again,” he panted, exasperation, anxiety, and irritation in his tone. “You have to make five times what you make today. Elizabeta told me they’re really important guests.”

“Im...important? But I don’t think I’ll have enough time to make that much pasta. Lovino, do you know how much time it takes to prepare the dough and shape it and cook it? And to make the sauce? And to present it beautifully on plates? And what if the guests like certain vegetables or spices or meats in their pasta? Or pretty garnish? Or—”

Feliciano’s wails were interrupted by his brother, who was twitching in annoyance. “They arrive at six sharp. That means you have seven hours to prepare. I swear fratello, if you fuck this up, everyone in the damn manor will be cooked alive instead. So I suggest you hurry your ass up because the rest of us have been up since the sun just started rising.”

“Master Ludwig can’t be that mean…”

“Feli, do you even fucking remember why we’re trapped in that potato-munching bastard’s manor?” Lovino hissed.

Slowly, Feliciano nodded. “Because nonno started a movement and now the country is at...at...um...at…”

“At civil unrest,” Lovino spat. He turned around and snapped over his shoulder, “So hurry your ass up, useless little brother!” before slamming the door behind him.

 

“Calm down, calm down,” Feliciano’s friend and coworker, Yao Wang was saying, “Lovino can be such a brat sometimes. Don’t worry, my dorm is always open. We can discuss myths and stories together like last time!”

The Chinese man, in spite of being the eldest of all of Captain Ludwig’s staff, looked the youngest. He had effeminate features, long hair tied into a low ponytail, cheery eyes, and expressive gestures.

Kiku Honda, a Japanese chef and gardener, appeared at the door frame with a fresh batch of vegetables in his arms. After settling the greens down, he said, “I can understand your excitement, Mr. Vargas, but we cannot let that distract us. Captain Beilschmidt said he wants enough pasta for all four of his guests and himself, meat sauce, vegetable garnish. We must not waste any time.”

All of Kiku’s words were spoken solemnly and mellowly. He was a collected, respectable man of fair values and robust work ethic. It was a known fact throughout the manor, even to Captain Ludwig, that Kiku Honda was a man that could accomplish any task whilst maintaining his polite nature. Hell, that task could be climbing to the moon and Kiku could perhaps still politely attempt it.

“Are you tending to the gardens for the rest of today, Kiku?” Feliciano asked.

“Yes. Mister Roderich told me that it was important I harvest all of the vegetables and water every flower in the labyrinth by nine,” Kiku explained.

Roderich Edelstein was the mansion’s head butler and therefore managed all communications between Captain Ludwig and his work. Roderich usually delivered Feliciano’s tasks to Lovino or Elizabeta instead of Feli himself, knowing that the man lacked any sense of punctuality and woke up hours later than his colleagues.

Every afternoon, at around five-thirty, Roderich would sit idly at the grand piano and play a piece by any famed classical composer known to man. He played for roughly twenty minutes, and within those twenty minutes, the world seemed at peace. Everyone would halt their tasks to relax and listen as each note flowed and passionately through the atmosphere. Maybe even Captain Ludwig listened.

The hours dragged on, but the pile of pasta grew bigger and the huge bowl of sauce was eventually filled. Yao finished cutting the garnish, and Lili Vash and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, who had assisted Feliciano greatly in making the sauce and shaping some portions of the pasta, finally dismissed themselves to the comfort of the servant’s quarters.

Kiku was returning to the kitchen nonchalantly wiping beads of sweat from his forehead when Yao and Feliciano were plating their meals and cleaning the silverware.

“Almost done I see,” Kiku noted. “The guests are almost here. I can see their cars from the horizon.”

“Ai ya, ai ya,” Yao sighed. “We know. But our dishes must look perfect. After this, I can retire to the dorms and relax. Right, Feliciano?”

Feliciano exhaled. His shoulders, arms, and legs hurt. He hardly had any resting intervals during that arduous day of work and was yearning for nothing more than a bed, pillow, and blanket. “Right,” he said.

Alas, the plating was finished and ready to be delivered to the guests. Their cars were parking in front of the manor when Elizabeta and Lovino entered, dusting their attire and combing through their hair with their fingers.

“Thank goodness!” Elizabeta chirped, her usual high-pitched tone seemingly untouched by her day of labor, “We came just in time to help deliver the plates.”

Together, Feliciano, Lovino, Elizabeta, Yao, and Kiku carried the neatly decorated plates of pasta, wine glasses, and wine bottles up the steps leading to the hallway toward the main parlor. Roderich was leading the four guests toward the main dining room alongside Captain Ludwig when the plates were being set down.

Although Feliciano tried his best to keep his head low, he couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at the guests and Ludwig. One of the guests had the bushiest, darkest eyebrows known to man, despite his smaller stature. He wore formal clothing tailored perfectly for his shape and had bright blonde hair.

The other guest had his platinum blond locks styled longer, just reaching his shoulders. They were wavy and lively, much like his attire. He flaunted bold colors, bright blues and reds, and his clothing flared out flamboyantly toward the bottom and at the ends of his sleeves. The man also had a slight stubble on his chin, adding to his indifferently stylish appeal.

The third guest was a bit taller than the other two and had messily styled dirty blond hair. His eyes expressed life, adventure, and naive determination, framed well by a pair of glasses. His button-up and navy blue coat seemed to have been thrown on at the very last second prior to his departure to the Beilschmidt manor, although Feliciano thought nothing negative of such fashion. Clothing didn’t always need to be tidy and formal; it could also be a means of conveying one’s personality and mindset.

The fourth guest was significantly taller than all of them, standing maybe even a foot over the first guest. His hair was so pale it was almost silver, whilst his nose had a remarkably high bridge. He wore a long coat, a thick scarf, and a warm yet enigmatic grin. Not once did that grin leave his face has Roderich and Ludwig greeted him.

Lastly, Feliciano’s eyes strayed toward his master, Captain Ludwig Beilschmidt. He had only seen glances of the man from time to time, as Ludwig was usually busy with his work and likely didn’t care to communicate directly with mere servants. Besides, Feliciano had only worked at the manor for around a month and a half. From what he saw, Feliciano knew that Ludwig had neatly groomed blond hair and was tall.

However, he never expected the German to be so handsome.

Indeed, his hair was blond. It was platinum blond much like the second guest’s, but groomed so meticulously that not a single hair was misplaced by even a millimeter. His features were sharp and strong, his eyes deep-set and intense. If such that wasn’t enough, Feliciano realized that Ludwig was very tall. Sure, he had always been aware of his master’s height to an extent, but he never realized that Ludwig was the tallest in the room aside from the silver-haired guest. His height was accompanied by a robust physique. Feliciano could see right through Ludwig’s suit and know that Ludwig was the type of man that could snap anybody in half if they crossed him. Now Feliciano could understand Captain Beilschmidt’s reputation.

“Hey, bastard, snap out of it,” Lovino hissed under his breath, nudging Feliciano with his shoulder. Roderich was gesturing toward Feli and the others to serve the dinner, and Feliciano was already two steps behind. Ludwig was sure to notice that.

“Another riot in Munich?” the bushy-browed guest was saying. He had a thick English accent, and his tone was regal and posh. “How many casualties?”

“Not as many this time,” Ludwig replied. “Only four.”

That was the first time Feliciano had actually heard Ludwig speak. His voice was deep and commanding, topped with a heavy German accent.

“Man, I hate it when people die. This unrest has been going on for months. I wouldn’t be very shocked if an all-out civil war breaks loose,” the spectacled guest said. His voice was loud, like a buoyant trumpet, and he was clearly an American.

“Watch what you say, Alfred!” the Englishman snapped as Elizabeta served the wine.

“Hey, I’m just statin’ facts, Arthur,” Alfred defended.

“I agree. I hate seeing Germany in such a situation. I’m doing what I can to avoid war and maintain order,” Ludwig said.

Feliciano must’ve been too lost in his eavesdropping, since he nearly jumped when Kiku elbowed him. Feli followed his friends back to the staff dormitory. As he was exiting, however, he managed to pick up fragments of the conversation.

“I think federal military should be involved,” the silver-haired, tall guest suggested. “Good for instigation of fear into people. Fear into people means obedience.” His tone was soft, almost melodic. Words drifted together with tranquility, but were edged with a threatening nuance. He was Russian, most likely.

“Oh, Ivan, you say the funniest things sometimes, dude!” Alfred exclaimed.

“Do not touch me,” Ivan responded, his voice the same as it had been previously.

Feliciano could not hear the rest of the exchange.

 

“Stupid bastard little brother! You almost got us killed, I bet!” Lovino scolded. He was stomping his feet and tearing off his apron, indignantly throwing his garments to the ground. “You’re always zoning out and your dumbass head is always floating around! I swear, if I don’t get killed because of you one day I will b—”

“Lovino...I think it would be best if you rested, no? Tonight has been a long night. Sleep will calm you down, I assure you,” Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo said. The Spaniard was always more tolerant of Lovino’s temper than others, responding to his tantrums with patience and affection. Also, he made the best churros in all of Europe.

“Shut up, jerk,” Lovino spat. “My little brother never learns his lesson. All that idiota does all the time is daydream and lie around being useless!”

Feliciano was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, biting back tears by then. He was always more sensitive than most others his age, and when Lovino was vexed, Feliciano would always take the blow. While Antonio was still continuing his efforts to subdue Lovino, Lili Vash sat down beside Feli. She was younger than the other workers, likely fifteen or sixteen. She was small and quiet, with the kindest pair of green doe eyes and short blonde hair. Lili always wore the blue ribbon Basch Zwingli, a Swiss gardener who acted as her brother figure, gifted her during her first month at the manor.

“Are you alright, Feli?” she asked.

Inhaling and blinking away teardrops, Feliciano said, “Yes. Lovi can be mean sometimes, but I know he doesn’t mean it.”

“Big Brother Basch got some cheese today. Do you want some? It’s really good!” Lili offered.

“Cheese? From where?” Feliciano asked as Lili unwrapped the white cloth to reveal a slice of cheese.

“From the market,” Lili said.

“The market? But aren’t gardeners allowed to leave only on Saturdays?” Feliciano said.

“Yes, but Miss Laura went to the market today and bought some for Basch and me. It’s really good! Try some,” Lili replied. She held the cheese to Feliciano, who tentatively bit into it. He recognized it instantly as butterkase.

“Thank you, Lili.” Feliciano grinned down at the girl as Lovino stomped to his bed, muttering obscenities under his breath. Antonio chuckled awkwardly.

“What a night,” Elizabeta yawned, sauntering into the dorm with Roderich, Basch, Yao, and Kiku behind her. Her mousy brown hair, which was typically wavy and well-combed, was frizzy and unkempt from a day’s rigorous work. “Laura will be a bit late; she’s busy cleaning extra dirt off of her dress. That girl needs to learn to be less energetic and maybe she’d get herself into less predicaments.”

“I haven’t seen Beilschmidt in person like that for a while,” Basch grumbled as he embraced Lili. “Almost forgot he was that big.”

“Can you all shut up? I’m trying to get some sleep here,” Lovino complained.

“Ai ya, ai ya,” Yao exclaimed, “Who made Lovino mad this time?”

Feliciano hesitantly raised his hand before dejectedly admitting, “I did. Sorry.”

“Oh, come now,” Elizabeta cooed, “What did you do this time?”

Roderich rolled his eyes, removing his glasses. “You silly ass, he was spacing out in the dining room again. Duh.”

“Ah. I remember. It was so funny I almost fell over laughing in front of all of our guests!” Elizabeta said.

“It was not funny!” Lovino shot back, abruptly sitting up in his bed. “Feli is always acting like a stupid imbecile. He always promises he’ll never be a dumbass again, but feels the need to constantly fuck up!”

Antonio cautiously made his way to Lovino, sitting on the bed beside him. He rested his hand on Lovino’s back, “Look, Lovino. I know that your brother’s head can be up in the clouds sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you have to be so mean to him. It doesn’t make situations better. Just be patient with Feliciano; he is good-natured, and I doubt he’d do anything that would truly hurt us in the long run.”

“Yeah, right,” Lovino huffed. He buried his face in his pillow and pulled the covers to his temple, communicating that he intended to end the conversation there.

Kiku sighed. “I think we should all rest. Tomorrow will be easier for us since the captain will be out of the manor for almost the entire day.”

With that, everyone agreed to Kiku’s advice and took to their own beds. Elizabeta was the one to turn off the lights.

 

Feliciano couldn’t sleep.

It was a behavior so out of character for him that he spent the first hour and a half of sleeplessness wondering whether or not he had fallen ill with an unknown disease. He tossed and turned, forced his eyes shut, used the blankets to shield any remnant of light seeping into the room of his eyes, but such efforts were futile.

So, Feliciano did what Feliciano would do in such a situation. He decided to wander the manor.

He’d quickly gotten bored, since he was so accustomed to the interior of Ludwig’s mansion already. Feli knew every corner of every room and every design on every wall. He recognized every painting and candle, and always predicted which corridor led where before he’d even reach said corridor.

But I’ve never been into Captain Ludwig’s chambers before, Feliciano carefully thought to himself. Even though it was just a thought, safe in the confines of his mind, he felt quite scared when it entered his mind. But, in spite of his trepidation, he continued entertaining the idea. Just one look won’t be so bad. I bet there are so many beautiful paintings and sculptures there! I’ve always loved the arts. Plus, I bet Captain Beilschmidt is asleep! He’d never detect me. I just want to take a look, a small glimpse, what’s the crime in that?

Puffing his chest in determination, Feliciano confidently strided through the manor until he reached the hallway leading to the northwest wing. The northwest wing was not necessarily prohibited to enter, but workers simply had to be more vigilant when there due to the fact that the furthest end of the wing was absolutely prohibited from entry by any staff. However, Feliciano had heard stories of the northwest wing, of its grandeur and magnificence from Elizabeta, Yao, and Roderich. He was told of the glorious art that lorded over its interior, beacons of rich culture and history, majestic architecture. Of course, such words were merely rumors, but Feliciano needed to satiate his curiosity.

The majority of the northwest wing was familiar to him. He didn’t go there as much as he had gone to other parts of the manor, but it all felt typical. Nothing about it was distinct from any other part of the estate.

Finally, Feli knew that he had reached the furthest end of the northwest wing when he saw a large set of doors, almost three times as tall as he was, loom over him. From what he could reckon, they were made of a dark, dense metal. Unlike other parts of the manor, which were decorated intricately, the pair of doors were rather plain in design. They were evidently more practical than they were pleasing to the eye.

Tentatively, Feliciano placed his hand on the cold metal. It felt like dry ice, a stubborn and sturdy material on his fingers. Just from one small, faint touch, the young man knew that these doors were made so that entry would be highly, highly difficult.

Feliciano sighed. I guess there was no point in coming here since these doors seem impossible to open.

The auburn-haired boy was ready to turn and leave until he heard heavy, calculated footsteps behind him. Oh no...It can’t be—

His heart pounded on his ribcage, his skin heating up and every hair on his body going irate. Feliciano was certain he’d be punished.

Turning around as quickly as he could, he began sputtering as many apologies as he could muster. “I’m so sorry Master Captain Ludwig Beilschmidt! I couldn’t sleep and wanted to venture! I didn’t intend to do any harm! Please don’t hurt me! I promise to never do this again! I make good pasta and will work extra hours until you say otherwise! And don’t hurt my fratello even though he can be a meanie sometimes! I’m sorry I’ll leave imme—”

“Calm down. I won’t hurt you,” Ludwig said.

Feliciano instantly ceased his rambling. He felt elated. He felt lighter than a feather, his relief tangible in the air. “Mio dio! Grazie! Grazie! Grazie! Grazie!”

“Can you shut up for a second?” Ludwig demanded. The man’s voice was coated in irritation, but he wasn’t shouting. No, he was only a naturally loud and intimidating person.

“Ah, right. Sorry, Captain Beilschmidt,” Feliciano said. His eyes diverted to the ground, his head downcast in shame.

“You’re Feliciano Vargas, yes? And your twin brother is Lovino Vargas?” Ludwig asked.

Despite being perplexed as to why Ludwig was reacting so calmly to his presence and interrogating him and his family, Feliciano responded honestly. “Ah, um, yes.”

“And your grandfather is Augustus Vargas? The face and leader of the Usurpazione, correct?”

“Sì—er, I mean, yes.”

“Hm.” That was all Ludwig had said, pausing for an elongated period of time. Feliciano looked up to see the tall blond looking out of one of the vast windows almost yearningly. Or maybe the dim lighting was fooling Feliciano into seeing that.

Finally, he said, “You can come in if you wish. I don’t mind.”

Feli’s eyes brightened. “Y-You don’t?” he stammered. “But...Aren’t people prohibited from entering? At...At least that’s what I heard. From, er, Elizabeta and Roderich and stuff…”

“They are,” Ludwig answered, “But you’re the son of Augustus Vargas. I make exceptions.”

“W-Why would you reveal something like that to me? I’m the grandchild of your enemy, right? I mean, at least I figured he’s your enemy. When I was with him, he always talked badly of you and your people. And you seem to talk badly about him. And from what everyone else tells me, especially Lovino, you and nonno and your friends and nonno’s friends hate each other,” Feliciano said.

“I don’t hate your grandfather,” Ludwig said formally. Feli noticed that even in the confines of his own mansion at nighttime, the captain still stood as he would in front of fellow military officers or politicians or the press. How strange.

“Then why does everybody say that?” Feliciano queried. He knew he was treading on dangerous territory, but the words slipped out of his mouth before he realized it. I really need to work on thinking before acting. That’s what nonno always told me, at least.

“I’m protecting something your grandfather and his movement want. That’s all, nothing personal,” Ludwig answered.

“But nonno and fratello say that what you’re protecting doesn’t rightfully belong to you,” Feliciano argued. He forgot any sense of reason, preferring to defend his family.

Ludwig didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Would you like to see what’s beyond these doors or not?”

Again, Feliciano perked up. “Yes! Of course I do! I heard it was all so pretty! And I love pretty things! I love everything related to art! And pasta. And gelato. And siestas! Do you like siestas?”

“Siesta?” Ludwig asked.

“Naps!”

“I don’t take naps. They interfere with my work,” Ludwig said. He gently pushed past Feliciano toward the doors, pressing his hand against the metal. And just like that, the doors gave way. Why didn’t they open like that for me? Feliciano wondered.

“Come in,” Ludwig invited.

With that, the young Italian pranced into the room, instantly marveling at the beauty before him.

The room was perhaps three times as large as the manor’s main living room, with walls coated in thick, vibrant paint which assembled together into large, theatrical images. On one wall was an illustration of a young boy, likely in his early to mid-teens, donning a magnificent black cape rimmed with gold. The cape danced around the wall as if it were alive and conscious, embracing every window and wall ornament in a cloud of black full of dimension ranging from a smoky gray to the darkest of blacks imaginable. In his hand was a large broadsword, raised high in dignity. He was mounted upon a large, chocolate brown horse, its stature imperious and every muscle and hair on its body shaded meticulously.

On another wall was a dramatic display of that same earnest teenage boy, but with an arrow tearing straight through his chest. He was falling to the ground, but his cape remained as lively as it had been in the previous mural. Behind him was a grand stone castle, with mosaic windows and tall pillars. However, it was the boy’s face that struck Feliciano the most. His melancholic expression of anguish, heartache, and disgrace tore through Feliciano like that arrow tore through the boy.

The last mural, the one opposite to the silver set of doors, depicted an entirely different scene. It appeared completely unrelated to that of the slain teenage boy. The main figure in this image had his back turned, so Feliciano couldn’t determine if this was the same boy or someone entirely different. He was kneeling before an altar, a glowing mosaic bursting with color and buoyancy. The mosaic seemed to be the only source of light in the otherwise dark setting, seemingly made completely of gray stone. In that mural, the figure wore nothing but a white cloak laced with simplistic silver accents. Although this image was much less eventful and more cryptic than the others, Feliciano felt somewhat mournful and despondent looking at the artwork, yet he could not understand why he felt that way. Perhaps it was the way the mosaic fruitlessly attempted to light the entire room in its color? The direction and contrast of the monochrome and the vibrance, the darkness and the light? Or was it the way that the anonymous figure was drawn so that he appeared to be begging, wishing, lamenting, with utmost desperation? Feliciano didn’t know.

Aside from the murals, statues also were positioned around the room. There were many of deities, battles, deaths, victories, and romances. Feli gaped at them all, admiring the detail and structure each piece of art was sculpted with.

“Captain Ludwig, these are all so beautiful! Why would you hide them from people? There’s no reason to! I bet everyone would love to see what’s in this room!” Feliciano exclaimed.

“It’s not that simple. You can tell anyone you want about what you’ve seen, but any attempts to enter will be intervened by the guards stationed at this estate, understood? Remember where we are,” Ludwig warned.

Right. I had almost forgotten about the guards. And the military base.

“Can I stay for a while? Maybe in your room? I promise not to break anything! I’ll be very careful, Captain. You’ll see!” Feliciano promised.

“Why do you wish to stay?” Ludwig inquired.

“Because you seem nice. And I would like to get to know you. And I can’t sleep. I can’t stay in my room staring at the ceiling all day, can I?” Feliciano answered.

“Fine. Just don’t touch anything, all right? I was just finishing up my paperwork,” Ludwig said.

“You’re so nice! I can’t believe everybody always talks badly about you like that. Lovino calls you a filthy potato-eating, beer-drinking bastard,” Feliciano said.

Ludwig scoffed and led the brunette into his room.

When Feliciano entered Ludwig’s room, he was disappointed but not surprised to discover that it was rather plain and looked more like another office than a resting place. Paperwork, office supplies, and maps littered his large desk. The rest of the room was painfully organized and modest. There was not a single piece of artwork nor decoration in sight; just a large wardrobe, two drawers, a window, a decently sized bed, and a door leading to what Feli assumed was Captain Ludwig’s bathroom.

For someone who inherited so much from his father, he sure doesn’t like to indulge, Feliciano thought.

“You look down so much,” Ludwig said. “I hope you’re aware that you can make eye contact with me. I’m no tyrant.”

Obeying, Feliciano looked up again. Now he was so close to the captain. Back when he was serving the foreign guests with his friends, Feliciano enjoyed admiring Ludwig from afar. He always found beautiful things irresistible: beautiful art, beautiful food, beautiful architecture, and beautiful people. Before he was captured and sent to work for Ludwig, Feliciano would flirt with every pretty woman that passed by him in the streets and ogle at strong, handsome men. If there were a girl he fancied, he’d treat her to a meal and be courteous toward her, and if there were a man he liked, he’d show physical affection and grow comfortable around him. Only once were his advances successful, but that was too long ago and bygone to linger upon.

But Ludwig was so much more than any handsome man he’d seen living in Italy. Sure, some were comparable in physique and were also blond-haired and blue-eyed like him, but it was the manner in which Ludwig carried himself and minor features in his appearances that allured Feliciano most.

The captain staunchly wore formal attire no matter the occasion. If he weren’t clad in his uniform, which was tailored to perfectly fit his form and accentuate his stature, then he’d likely rather walk around naked. Not once had Feliciano seen Ludwig’s infallible posture waver. His shoulders were always square, back straight, head high, and chin up. Ludwig was powerful, and he was well aware of that.

On the other hand, his face was completely different from any men Feliciano adored (or, for obvious reasons, any women he chatted up also). That was likely due to the fact that Feliciano spent his entire life under the warm Italian sun and was never presented with the opportunity to explore Germany when he was captured. However, Feli was still certain that no man possessed features like Ludwig Beilschmidt’s. His lips formed a straight, stern line, and his nose, jawline, and cheekbones were astonishingly reminiscent of the statues of heroes and gods Feliciano loved observing at museums or historical sites. It was as if Ludwig were carved out of metal by the best sculptors in the world throughout decades (perhaps even centuries) of work. His eyes were as blue as the sparkling sea under a cloudless, sunny sky in summer: solid and opaque in color.

Ludwig was so different from Feliciano. Feli was shorter than most men, usually by a few inches but in rare occasions by more than that. The Italian’s skin was pale despite being an outdoors person, and his features were amiable and soft, his eyes amber and expressing clear naivete. Despite that, Feli didn’t mind. He didn’t care so much about how his beauty compared to others anyway.

“You’re staring,” Ludwig said. He turned around and organized his paperwork, unbuttoning his uniform.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Feli sighed. He slouched and turned around, allowing Ludwig the privacy to change. Why am I always so airheaded? he thought dejectedly.

Once Ludwig had finished changing, Feliciano immediately started conversation. “I heard you have a brother! I forgot his name, but I heard that he was really flamboyant and liked talking to people! Maybe I can talk to him sometime. Oh, does he visit often? I bet it sucks living so far away from your brother. If I were separated from Lovi for too long, I’d be so depressed! I mean, Lovi is real mean, but that doesn’t mean I want him gone, you know?”

Ludwig blinked at Feliciano for a few seconds. Oh no...What did I do wrong? Feli worried. But instead, he was met with an endeared smile. “When I was younger, Gilbert—”

“Oh...Gilbert! Is that your brother’s name? Gilbert Beilschmidt...Wow, that sounds so cool. German last names are so cool,” Feliciano interrupted.

“Danke,” Ludwig said. “When I was younger, Gilbert raised me. He’s not very much older than me, but he took me under his wing, I suppose. He can be a bit of a dummkopf, but he genuinely cares for me and nurtured me when father couldn’t.”

“Was your father nice?” Feliciano asked.

Ludwig didn’t answer. He broke eye contact with Feliciano after that question.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that question,” Feliciano apologized. Mio dio, how stupid of me.

“It’s fine,” Ludwig said. “What about you? You must have a bond with your brother if you care for him so much.”

“Ah, sì! Nonno raised us together! We’re twins, but he’s a bit tanner than I am and his hair is dark brown. He was always really tough, but he doesn’t mean any harm. As a matter of fact, he’s really close to Antonio but is still mean to him sometimes,” Feliciano said. “He didn’t really take care of me like Gilbert did for you though…”

Ludwig’s endeared smile returned, much to Feliciano’s joy.

“As much as I am enjoying our conversation, I should escort you back to your dorm. I have a meeting at the base early in the morning tomorrow and will spend the rest of the week in Munich for a ball, hence the paperwork and recent arrival of guests,” Ludwig said. “Perhaps we could exchange...um...letters when we can’t communicate face-to-face?”

“Ooh, like penpals!” Feliciano exclaimed.

“Ja, like penpals,” Ludwig confirmed.

“Mio dio, I’d love to! But how would they get delivered?” Feliciano asked.

“I can order my subordinates to deliver them directly to you whenever,” Ludwig said, “and I’ll inform them that you will be sending letters also.”

“Ah! Grazie, Captain!” Feliciano chirped. However, his tone quickly changed from cheerful to hesitant as he asked, “Would you mind if I slept in your bed tonight? You’ll be gone soon, and I’ll miss you. Plus, it’s so warm in here! I doubt I’ve ever felt warmth like this since Italy!”

“Are the dorms too cold?” Ludwig asked, furrowing his brows in concern.

Feliciano frantically shook his head, waving his arms in the air like a lunatic. “No, no, no! Ah, I guess they are a little bit…but just a little bit! It doesn’t hurt me or anything, I swear!” Then, in a quieter yet still audible tone, Feli added, “But I do hear a lot of complaints, especially from Lovi and Yao…”

“Hm. Cold temperature is common in servant quarters,” Ludwig noted matter-of-factly. “It’s a matter you and your friends will simply have to adapt to and cooperate with.”

“I know,” Feliciano sighed. He’s always so cold and formal. He should loosen up and smile more. He has such a nice smile.

“I suppose you’ll be sharing a bed with me tonight. I apologize that it is not as luxurious as you would expect from me, considering my family’s legacy, but I make do. Function over form, as they say,” Ludwig said.

Chipper, Feliciano leapt onto the bed like a young child and curled under the comforter. He exhaled contentedly and pressed his knees to his chest. “So soft…” he said wistfully.

“Don’t be silly. This bed is hardly soft. Compared to what Gilbert has in East Berlin, that is. Gil always knew how to make everything luxurious and fit for a king. I figure he acquired that trait from Francis,” Ludwig said, partially to himself.

“Ludwig,” Feliciano said, completely forgetting to refer to his master by his more professional title, “do you ever wish to just travel? Not for business or politics or family matters, but to have fun. I’ve always wanted to! I’ve been all over Italy—Venice (my favorite), Rome, Florence, Milan, Naples, Verona, and even the remote countryside! But I’ve only been to a select few other countries, all of which in Europe. I’ve seen France, Hungary, and mountainous Austria! It’s been a dream of mine to see Germany. So much rich history...and Germany’s weather is so much different from Italy’s. Your architecture is a bit stiff and orderly, but I like stiff and orderly, even though it can intimidate me at times. I also want to see England and go to America and try burgers and see Lady Liberty and the White House and California beaches! And the Great Wall of China! And Japanese Shinto temples! I always hear good things about the latter from Kiku.”

Again, Ludwig smiled that endeared and gentle smile. It was slight and almost shy, like a young inexperienced child peeking from behind his mother’s skirt. However, this time Ludwig’s right eyebrow was perked up in fascination. “You sure are a dreamer, aren’t you?” he said as he joined Feliciano beneath the comforters.

“Yes. I like pretty cities and pretty architecture. Cute cafes and small villages with kind people. And good food! Who could ever turn down good food? A monster, that’s who,” Feliciano said. “Hmm...and I like siestas! They’re Italian afternoon naps. They calm me down and make me feel so peaceful. I also like cute girls and strong men. Nobody can turn down beautiful people! My nonno told me at a very young age to always be nice to a lady on the street, even if she were haggard.”

“Gilbert told me to always understand my worth. That before anything, I was a Beilschmidt and I should know what that meant,” Ludwig said. “Gil was always very facetious and over-the-top, but whenever he spoke to me privately about the Beilschmidt name, his tone would completely shift.”

Feliciano’s intrigue perked. He subconsciously leaned closer to Ludwig. “How so?” he asked.

“He would talk very slowly and pause often. Sometimes he’d stutter, and his eye contact would be abhorrent. Gilbert would inevitably talk about Aldrich as well, and he’d constantly speak of him as if he were a god,” Ludwig explained.

“Why do you call your father by his name?” Feliciano queried slowly. Again, he was treading dangerous territory.

“Because he’s hardly my father,” Ludwig said. He locked eyes with the auburn-haired boy for seconds, and within those seconds Feliciano could see everything. Blue eyes that were once opaque and firm became clearer and transparent, like a shallow lake. The saying that eyes are a window to one’s soul certainly was true, Feliciano realized, as he saw in those eyes within those few seconds more than he’d ever seen before. It was something indescribable. Ludwig was struggling, fighting, hurting. Was he holding something back? Certainly. Vulnerability? No, the agony and indignance of being neglected and disregarded. But Feliciano could not decipher whether Ludwig was angry, sad, or pained. Likely, he was somewhere in between.

When their eye contact broke, Feliciano took it upon himself to rest his head against Ludwig’s broad shoulder and sling his arm across his chest.

“What are you doing?” Ludwig questioned.

“Making you feel better,” Feliciano said.

“Making me feel better?”

“Yes! Human physical contact really helps soothe the mind,” Feliciano chirped, shutting his eyes. Besides, I like you. You’re very kind and strong and honorable and handsome. I like you, Ludwig.

“You’re an interesting person, Feliciano. I was certain you’d be like Augustus; passionate and fiery, but you’re the antithesis of my expectations—hm, actually, no, on second thought...you’re very similar to Augustus, merely the opposite side of the same coin,” Ludwig said. Then, “Guten nacht, Feliciano.”

“Buonanotte, Ludwig,” Feliciano replied, a content smile on his face as he drifted off to sleep.

 

Feliciano couldn’t recall how early in the morning this had occurred, but he assumed that it was still remarkably early as the sun hadn’t even shown a hint of rising, and the stars were still shining extravagantly in the sky. However, he could remember, in his sleepy and dazed state of mind, Ludwig sweating profusely beside him. The captain was trembling in rapid succession. Not once did his body seem to pause its quivering. Terrified, Feliciano climbed atop of Ludwig and shook with all his might to wake the man up, fortunately succeeding in his efforts.

Ludwig’s eyes were barely open, but Feliciano could still see the unmistakable crystal blue. He leaned down and, without giving it a second thought, placed a sweet kiss on Ludwig’s lips. Feli had intended for the kiss to be just that—a kiss—but it became much more when Ludwig decided to take control and deepen the kiss, capturing Feliciano’s mouth in his own and languidly ordering Feliciano’s lips to part. Feli didn’t question it one bit. He followed Ludwig’s motions until the blond’s hands caressed their way down Feli’s waist to his hip, his knee lifting to push Feliciano beneath him.

By then, the Italian’s back was pressed firmly onto the mattress, Ludwig’s sturdy form lording over him. Gone was the weariness, replaced by the dominance of a Beilschmidt commanding officer.

For a brief moment, Feliciano wanted to ask Ludwig why he wasn’t pushing him away. After all, Feliciano was a Vargas. He was the grandson of the most wanted man in Germany. Technically, he was an enemy and a slave.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders and welcomed the newfound warmth, consolation, and security he felt under Ludwig.

He let the blond wrap his lips around his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, his chest, and his hips. As a matter of fact, he relished it. Feliciano had never experienced something like this before. Prior to his captivity, he would treat cute girls to meals or cling onto boys he was close to. Only once had he been in a true relationship, but it was a relationship too fleeting to have reached such a stage of intimacy.

When Ludwig finally tore off Feliciano’s trousers (which he didn’t mind, as he usually slept nude or half-nude anyway), the two men were pressed so firmly against each other that Feli believed that his entire body was being engulfed by the German’s.

“Are you all right, Feliciano?” Ludwig asked. He sounded concerned.

“Y—Yes,” Feliciano said.

That was the only warning Ludwig gave before he placed three fingers on Feliciano’s lips. The brunette’s eyes were still closed, and he was still lost in pleasure, so he was confused when the fingers remained there. Puzzled, he slowly cracked his eyes opened and asked, “Ludwig?”

“Open your mouth. Pl—Please,” Ludwig said.

Reluctantly, the Italian’s lips separated and gave way to Ludwig’s fingers. For a short moment, the movement of Feli’s tongue and Ludwig’s fingers were both awkward and messy, but the two gradually adapted to the situation, and their motions became rhythmic and synchronized.

Once the digits were fully coated in a thick layer of lubrication, they slowly escaped the brunette’s lips and slid down his lithe form toward his entrance.

Feliciano winced when they initially entered up, the sensation foreign to him. At first, it felt rather invasive and peculiar, the coldness and slickness being an unfamiliar experience down there. He recalled cringing as Ludwig’s movements became harsher, until his fingers reached certain areas that Feli had never known existed until that night.

With a gasp, Feliciano’s toes curled, and his lower abdomen subconsciously rose into the air in an abrupt manner. His fingers intertwined around Ludwig’s bed sheets and his teeth dug into his lower lip, nearly drawing blood.

Ludwig interpreted that as a positive sign, his digits retreating. Once again, Feliciano’s entrance was struck with a wave of coldness and vulnerability, but it was short-lived.

Soon, Ludwig himself had entered Feliciano and the latter sharply inhaled and curled in on himself.

“Is something the matter?” Ludwig asked in pants.

“N—no. Everything’s fine,” Feliciano replied. His teeth were still putting a significant amount of pressure on his lower lip, but he managed to wrap his arms and legs (which were previously in a more protective position) around Ludwig’s upper back and waist, respectively.

As he became more relaxed, Ludwig’s thrusts became more organized and calculated. Each thrust hit a certain and specific area within Feliciano with terrifying precision, and Feliciano would always react with high-pitched gasps, eager moans, or desperate whimpers.

Progressively, the thrusts became more and more powerful; Feli’s reactions becoming more pronounced therefore. His nails would claw at Ludwig’s upper back, and his legs would instinctively tighten around the German’s waist.

Not long after, both men finished simultaneously, the euphoria enveloping Feliciano and blinding him to any coherent thought or reason. All he knew in that moment was the overpowering bliss that spread like a virus throughout his body. His legs quivered uncontrollably, his breath hitched dramatically, and his abdomen trembled with an uncontrollable ecstacy.

The two remained in that position for what felt like millennia until Ludwig finally pulled out of Feliciano, both of them being too weary to mind the mess they had created. Sleep beckoned them, and they followed.

 

Initially, Feliciano couldn’t recognize where he was. After all, he had become so accustomed to waking up at noon to Lovino’s shouts on his small bed in the servants’ quarters. However, he felt an odd tranquility when his eyes first opened. Unlike other days, the sunlight leaking through barely open curtains were gentle on his amber eyes, and the spacious room around him radiated with a serene warmth. For the first time since his captivity, Feliciano felt secure and at ease.

Unfortunately, realization would inevitably strike Feliciano.

I’m in Captain Ludwig’s chambers.

Worry, anticipation, and shock consumed the Italian, his morning serenity being replaced with frantic energy.

Was the captain only using me?

What if he punishes me?

Mio dio, was what happened last night a test?

What will Lovino and all of my friends think? Lovino will hate me and Elizabeta will be so disappointed in me!

Oh no, what if they get punished by Captain?

They will all hate me forever!

What if they don’t even survive?

I need to do something! Think, Feli, think!

His erratic thought process was interrupted when a plate of bizarre-looking food and a white piece of paper caught his eye. What can this be? he wondered.

Feliciano sniffed the plate of food. It seemed to be some type of German wurst with diced potatoes. The Italian was ready to dive into his breakfast until he remembered the note. Unfolding the white paper, Feliciano read its contents:

Dear Feliciano Vargas,  
I have departed early in the morning in order to attend the meeting and prepare for upcoming formal events, as I had stated the previous night. I managed to prepare an adequate amount of bratwurst with potato I ordered a lieutenant to purchase from the market on my behalf. If you recall, I will be absent for precisely one week. Furthermore, I will be certain to send one letter per day, perhaps more if I discover the opportunity to do so. Take good care of yourself, Feliciano Vargas.  
Captain Ludwig Beilschmidt

 

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feliciano and Ludwig exchange letters during the latter's stay in Munich. Meanwhile, Feliciano discovers more about the pasts and lives of his friends (such as Kiku, Yao, Basch, and Lili) and more aspects of Ludwig's personality that he had never been aware of prior. Furthermore, a rendezvous between Ludwig and a particular Russian leaves an ominous question lingering in the German's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS IM BACK LOLOLOLOL (dont forget to follow me on instagram, @hetalinut, for fic updates and hetalia fan posts). alright so this chapter will be a bit shorter than the previous since theres less setting up to do and plot events to manage. BUT THERES A LOT OF THINGS TO KNOW FROM THIS CHAPTER ESPECIALLY THE END. also just got food poisoning today it was hell. anyway enjoy lmao :-)

“Stupid imbecile little brother waking up later than usual!” Lovino was scolding. He angrily punched at the dough he was preparing while also kicking a nearby bag of sugar repeatedly. “Just because the idiot potato-loving captain is out of this stupid house doesn’t mean that you can be all lazy. Listen here, Feliciano, we have cleaning to do and extra gardening and food to prep. Stop being all useless and get your ass to work earlier!”

Typically, Feliciano would’ve cowered and issued fervent apologies to his older brother, but his head was too clouded with Ludwig. Feli had always possessed a bad habit of swooning over others and falling in love too quickly when given the chance.

“Are you even listening to me, idiota? I said get your stupid ass to work earlier. Now repeat after me. Say ‘I am sorry Big Brother Lovino, I will never be tardy and stupid and incompetent ever again.’ Say it!” Lovino spat.

“Huh?” Feliciano said.

“Why, you little—” Lovino was storming across the kitchen to Feliciano, and his fist was clenched, ready to punch the living hell out of his younger brother. Thankfully, Antonio dashed across the room on time to hold the olive-skinned Italian back, the latter vehemently retaliating by elbowing the Spaniard and repeatedly hitting his shins, knees, and feet with his own foot.

“Why can’t you mind your own business, eh? Stupid bastard. Go get a churro and shove it up your ass, why don’t cha?” Lovino grumbled as he shook himself free from Antonio’s hold and begrudgingly returned to his dough.

“S—Sorry, fratello,” Feliciano muttered, playing with his apron.

“Why don’t you move to the gardens?” Antonio suggested gently. “Basch and Lili are tending to the cabbages. Maybe you can help them.”

“Oh, okay! Grazie, Antonio!” Feliciano chirped. In spite of Lovino’s protests, he skipped out of the kitchen.

I know I should be helping the others with work, but I really need to get a letter back to Ludwig.

And it was that mindset that controlled Feliciano throughout the entire week, consequently angering his brother every waking moment.

 

Dear Ludwig Beilschmidt,  
Ciao ciao! How are things in Munich? I hope everyone is nice out there! Did anybody harass you! I hope not. You’re such a kind person, Captain! Wait, do I still have to call you Captain?  
Anyway, I was prepping the food inventory with my fratello today, but he got mad at me. I was thinking about you, and hoping you were doing well! Lately, my thoughts have been all about you, Captain! Hopefully you feel the same way!  
Tell any pretty girls you see in Munich ‘Ciao’ for me, okay? Also, my fratello doesn’t like you very much, but don’t take it too personally! He will warm up to you eventually, I promise.  
Last night I had a dream that I was stuck in a tomato crate that some weirdo with glasses and a strange-looking sandwich in both of his hands trapped me in! For some reason, I believed that I was actually tomatoes until you opened the crate and then I realized that I was a human! I think you saved me from that weirdo in my dream and made me realize my humanity! Grazie!  
Anyway, I promise to make you the best pasta and give you the biggest hug when you return home! But not in front of everyone else, since I know that your men don’t like my nonno and probably don’t like me. Good luck, Captain!  
Love,  
Feliciano Vargas

 

After Feliciano’s letter was delivered, Ludwig’s was sent by evening. Feli had to scramble to the bathrooms in order to read it without raising any suspicions, but he was sure Elizabeta was already on his case.

Dear Feliciano Vargas,  
I am grateful to inform you that my trip to Munich has thus far been a pleasure. The people in the city are welcoming, and the beer halls are splendid. My meeting went as planned, but I unfortunately cannot disclose any further details.  
Secondly, I have no qualms with you referring to me by my real name. Additionally, I will contribute effort into saying ‘Ciao’ to pretty women on your behalf, although beauty is subjective.  
Lastly, your dream was a delight to read. I should tell you mine. In it, I met a boy in a green dress who seemingly carried his push broom wherever he went and who looked remarkably like you, Feliciano. I believe I was a warrior of some sort and departed to a great battle. The dream ended when that boy promised that he’d bake delicious meals for my return. Perhaps that dream is based on reality, isn’t it?  
Captain Ludwig Beilschmidt

 

Feliciano’s heart melted at the last sentence.

Ludwig dreamt of me…

Like a mantra, he repeated that thought in his head as he returned to the servant’s chambers, where everyone except for Elizabeta was fast asleep.

“It’s unlike you to be awake this late,” Elizabeta noted.

“Ah...I suppose you’re right,” Feli admitted, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

“Something on your mind?” the brunette asked, a cordial smile on her face.

Feli always trusted Elizabeta the most. Ever since he was sent to the Beilschmidt manor, she had taken him under her wing just as Antonio did for Lovino. She comforted him during times of distress, lightened his mood, listened to his arbitrary rambles, and played fun games with him whenever he felt like it. However, Feliciano was still unsure as to how she would react if he confessed about his feelings for Ludwig and about the night they spent together. Would she judge him? Shun him? Be angry with him? He didn’t want to lose her.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I slept in so much that all of the fatigue left me. But I’m tired now, Miss Hedervary, so don’t worry!”

“Ah, that’s good,” Elizabeta said. “I was just preparing for bed myself. I worked a few extra hours since the chimney in the main parlor was so full of cinder that I thought it’d be painted black for decades.” She yawned and removed the cloth from her light brown locks, allowing the waves to cascade freely. “Goodnight, Feliciano.”

“Buonanotte, Miss Hedervary.”

 

The next few days consisted of housework, Lovino’s wrath, Elizabeta’s singing, gardening with Basch and Lili, and, most importantly, letters from Ludwig.

For the most part, the German’s letters consisted of updates on his time in Munich. It was on Thursday that the long-awaited ball had occurred. Ludwig estimated in that letter that perhaps more than a hundred people attended. The night was concluded in, of course, a beer hall. Gilbert Beilschmidt had gotten drunk out of his mind, requiring assistance from three lieutenants back into his car. On the other hand, the Beilschmidts resided in the estate of the businessman who had invited them to Munich. Ludwig had described the mansion as cold, with grand and intimidating marble sculptures cold to the touch and not a single piece of fabric within its walls aside from the obvious coach, bedding, or rug. Everything was hard and unwelcoming, although beautiful.

As their letters became more frequent, Feliciano noticed Ludwig’s penmanship grow increasingly less formal. The Italian was certainly not complaining, as it gave each new note a higher sense of intimacy and closeness that its predecessor lacked. Soon, Feliciano was writing to Ludwig as affectionately and casually as he would write anyone else.

Just one week, Feliciano would repeat to himself every night before bed.

The rest of Ludwig’s stay in Munich seemed dreary, from what Feliciano gathered. Meetings with businessmen, politicians, and fellow captains or generals. Occasionally he’d go to a beer hall or English-style pub with Gilbert, but his days seemed too crammed with work and formalities for any true enjoyment.

‘Gilbert had taken me to a brothel towards the end of the day. Our stay lasted longer than they did in beer halls, since Gilbert loved the women. Each female within those walls had long, wavy hair and the same sultry look in their eyes. I could’ve sworn they were on some sort of drug shipped from the United States that made them so delirious on lust. Nonetheless, they were certainly beautiful and embodied the epitome of true womanhood in appearance and were jovial, so I was sure to say ‘Ciao’ to them for you.’

Feliciano couldn’t prevent the feeling of abandonment and inadequacy that hit him when he read those words. Were those girls so pretty that they pushed Feliciano away from Ludwig’s mind? Was he plain and unassuming compared to them? Did Ludwig realize that there were better choices in the world, so he slept with them?

“You look upset,” Kiku noticed one day. Since there were no more food preparations that needed to be made, Feliciano was assigned to cleaning the east parlor, billiard room, drawing room, and conservatory with Kiku.

“Ah, I do?” Feliciano chirped. “Sorry, my head was floating in the clouds for a while!” He feigned his typical enthusiastic and carefree expression, but Kiku recognized its falsehood immediately. The Japanese man had always had a talent for sensing the mood and seeing through facades, and that day was no exception.

“I figured that you would be happier, as Lovino would be on the opposite side of the mansion with Antonio for today, so he would not release his frustrations on you. Something else must be on your mind,” Kiku said. As per usual, his voice was melodic and tender, lacking any sharp edges and abruptness. It was perhaps all that green tea that he drank.

“It’s just the lonely atmosphere, I suppose,” Feliciano sighed, his shoulders slumping. He wasn’t necessarily lying—the manor wasn’t the same without Ludwig. Although everyone else feared the captain, his presence united the servants. Everything was pleasant and hearty, but now that the master of the household was gone, nobody knew how to manage the excess liberty.

“I have been feeling it as well,” Kiku said, continuing to scrub the floor of the drawing room they were in. “Perhaps Captain Beilschmidt’s absence caused such tension. It’s nothing new, Feliciano. Everybody behaves this way when the master is traveling for work.”

“Really?” Feliciano asked.

“Indeed.” Kiku nodded as he soaked his sponge in the bucket. “I have worked here since I was in my early teens. I am twenty-three now, so it has been almost a decade.”

“Mio dio! Kiku, you’re older than me! Almost ten years trapped in a mansion? Don’t you ever get bored and itch for freedom to explore and befriend? I’ve only been here a few months with Lovino, but I’m already missing the sun in Italy!” Feliciano exclaimed. Realizing the bluntness of his words, he looked down at fidgeted with his apron shamefully. “I’m sorry if those questions were too forward, Kiku…”

“No, they are no problem,” Kiku said. He stood up and wiped small beads of sweat from his forehead, having finished his cleaning. “Should we move on to the conservatory? That is our last room for today, and I can answer your questions on the way there. Tomorrow, we have to prepare a feast for Captain Beilschmidt’s return,” he added.

“Oh! Of course!” Feli agreed.

While they made their way through the main hallway to the dining hall, which lead to the conservatory, Kiku said, “Since I was a child, my mother and father have taught me to accept and simply adapt to whatever condition I live in. Do not fight, do not question, and do not hurt yourself.”

“That’s so cool of you, Kiku,” Feliciano said. “My nonno is so much different. I guess that’s why Lovi and I are here, and why the Germans are upset, right?”

Kiku didn’t answer. Maybe the question was too controversial and sensitive, Feli figured. “What about Yao? How long as he been working here?”

“I believe Yao, Elizabeta, and Roderich have been employed the longest. Then came Antonio and Laura. Basch and Lili were supposed to work separately. If I recall correctly, the late General Aldrich Beilschmidt had arranged for Lili to be sent to Captain Gilbert Beilschmidt’s estate to work as a maid, but she was so insistent on staying with her brother that Ludwig convinced Aldrich to relent. To my knowledge, a Ukrainian woman, much older than Lili and around Miss Elizabeta and Miss Laura’s age, was employed by General Aldrich Beilschmidt to serve Captain Gilbert Beilschmidt,” Kiku answered curtly.

There were so many names and so many titles, Feliciano was struggling to keep track. Why did Kiku have to speak so formally all the time?

“Ludwig...helped Lili?” Feliciano questioned.

Kiku nodded. “Yes. Aldrich was a strict and unforgiving man, but Ludwig, despite sharing many similarities, was not precisely like his father,” the noirette responded.

A warm cloud of happiness filled Feliciano’s chest and stomach. Ludwig was a good man, after all. He cared for others and was compassionate. But why was everybody so afraid of him? And why did his grandfather curse Ludwig so much?

“What about Gilbert?” Feliciano queried out of pure curiosity.

“Very rowdy. I remember him visiting Ludwig once. It was not for business; it was only a summer vacation, since he lived in a different city. The entire household was angry with him after only one night, since he had made a mess of the manor and demanded so much food and beer. That man loved beer more than he loved himself, his family, or any woman he was with. I doubt he has changed much,” Kiku said. He added, with his hand on his chin and his head toward the ceiling thoughtfully, “He had the palest hair; it was like silver. He never groomed it nor styled it; it remained messy at all times. Even though he wore expensive clothing and uniforms, as he was a Beilschmidt, they were always half-done or appeared to be thrown on his body in a hurry. Quite the antithesis of Captain Ludwig, admittedly.”

They had finally reached the doors leading to the parlor when Kiku had finished talking. Feliciano pranced to the door and held it open for his friend, who nodded a polite ‘thank you.’

“You can scrub the glass while I polish the furniture,” Kiku said.

Saluting energetically, Feliciano said, “Yes sir!”

“Do you have any stories? You are a delight to speak to, Feliciano,” Kiku complimented.

“Hm...I remember my nonno teaching me how to paint when we were younger. He always tried to mentor Lovino in the arts and business, but Lovi had no care for such things. All he knew were girls, sleep, and any foods with tomato in it. He loved tomato so much, he’d chew a whole one raw. He still does!” Feliciano chuckled as he began scrubbing on one of the glass panes.

“Perhaps I should make him some tomato soup. I hope that will calm his mood more,” Kiku said.

Feliciano agreed, continuing to clean the glass pane by pane. The rest of the day proceeded in that manner, full of stories, laughs, and cleaning. Before that day, Feliciano had only viewed Kiku was a solemn and respectable man who loved his tea, hot baths, and solitude. But, like Ludwig, Kiku was someone he could trust and talk to, and he was certain that he could feel the same way about everyone else in that manor.

The young man’s day was fun, indeed, but he still could not rid himself of three thoughts: the fact that Ludwig had shown great kindness before, whether or not Ludwig fell in love (or in lust) with any women in Munich, and what the captain had written for him that day.

 

Ludwig had sent no letter. Consequently, Feliciano’s fears worsened. Were the women in Munich that beautiful? Or was his grandfather’s status as an enemy of the state more powerful than any bond Ludwig and Feliciano may have shared?

It was almost midnight when Feliciano sauntered out of his bed cautiously and gathered all the previous letters from Ludwig he had hidden in his bedsheets. Holding the pieces of paper to his chest, he crept out of the servant’s quarters and into the bathroom. There were no lights in the bathroom except for two dying candles at such an ungodly hour, which discomforted Feliciano slightly, but not enough to will him to return to the quarters.

Time flew by as Feliciano read through each letter over and over. First, he read Sunday’s letter, then Monday’s, then Tuesday’s, then Wednesday’s, then the letter from the day prior, Thursday, which always hurt the most to read. “Please don’t leave me,” Feliciano croaked as he wept into the palms of his hands, his teardrops staining the parchment. “If you hate me or if I don’t satisfy you, I promise to make myself better! I promise! I’ll never disappoint again…”

His mind was swimming with thoughts of Ludwig. He thought of Ludwig’s perfectly gelled and styled platinum blond hair. His ethereal blue eyes. His flawlessly sculpted, sharp features. His robust, Herculean build. Feliciano recollected how pleasantly surprised he was that the captain was so understanding and unlike the rumors he heard from his fellow employees. He remembered the depth, longing, and burden that the blueness of Ludwig’s eyes concealed.

Feliciano didn’t notice when his hand ventured from the soft, white parchment to the hem of his trousers, toying with the fabric with uncertainty. Finally, as if it had made its decision, his hand slid under the cloth and gently wrapped around his shaft.

It had been a while since Feliciano had done something like this, especially since he had been stripped of the comfort of his home. Besides, he was either too tired by an entire day of labor to care about such matters.

But now, the Italian acted as he would in the confines of his bedchambers in Venice, where he was surrounded by silk pillow sheets and heavy comforters in a room decorated by artistic masterpieces and fine jewels.

As his right hand—the one below his trousers—caressed his shaft with rapidly increasing pressure and fluidity, oftentimes making contact with the head of his cock and pressing delicately against it, his left hand clenched the paper, pressing the letters close to his chest as his eyes fluttered shut. Each movement was exponentially more passionate and fervent than the previous until his fingers hit his tip every other stroke, the force sending his cervix into intense, fervid shivers.

His back arched dramatically, and his head flung back uncontrollably. Any thoughts and feelings he had prior were clouded by his desire, his hand moving vigorously and desperately. Feliciano would brush the ends of his digits against the head of his cock constantly, his hand encapsulating his shaft in different directions and with violent, constant motions.

Before he could realize it, his other hand had released the parchment and impatiently snaked under his nightshirt. He hungrily caressed his abdomen, marking every piece of skin with his fingers, before sliding upward toward his nipple. Feliciano pinched, brushed the tip of his index finger against it in passionate fervor, and massaged the area around with equal yearning.

Finally, his movements synchronized as they evolved to be messy and turbulent. His gasps and slight moans were increasing in volume until finally, he climaxed.

It lasted for a good twenty seconds before subsiding, his senses reviving once again.

Picking up the fallen parchment, Feliciano stumbled hazily to the sink and silently washed the evidence of what he had done down the drain. The Italian stepped back to the servant’s quarters and returned the letters to their hiding place beneath his bedsheets. He surveyed the room and was relieved to discover that his activities hadn’t disturbed anyone’s slumber.

That night, he dreamt of Ludwig. So, his dreams were good.

 

Gilbert stormed through the door of the inn, a dark-haired woman by his side.

“I cannot believe we had to stay here because you were too drunk to return to General Weber’s manor,” Ludwig admonished. Gilbert didn’t heed his complaints, preferring to attend to the strange woman. She was tall for a lady, the top of her head likely reaching Ludwig’s ears. Her dark, blackish-brown hair was long and cascaded down her back in smooth waves, her long bangs brushed effortlessly to the sides of her face. She donned a tight crimson gown and an equally crimson lipstick. Her features, primarily her eyes, were fierce and seductive.

“Oy, Bruder, pass me some of that beer, would ya?” Gilbert slurred. The woman took a seat on the dining room table as Ludwig poured amber beer in large, heavy glasses.

“Another woman from one of your brothels?” Ludwig commented as he picked up his brown coat.

Gilbert opened his mouth to answer, but the woman answered instead (much to Ludwig’s astonishment), “What, do you think I’m some common whore?”

Heat rushed to the blond’s face, and he had to pause to avoid stuttering. “Nein. Gilbert simply likes to buy women, you see,” Ludwig explained.

“That may be the truth, but his women have more dignity than others. That’s why I’m here,” the woman retorted.

Gilbert finally joined the conversation, whistling after downing half the beer. “Where you headin’, Bruder?”

“The bear,” Ludwig answered vaguely.

However, Gilbert understood and, contrary to his nature, sobered as he said, “I see.”

 

Snow buried the streets of Munich, benches seating small hills of snow and layers of white meeting every footstep Ludwig took. Illumination from the streetlights reflected gorgeously off the snow, Ludwig had to admit. Such a beautiful night, but such an ugly rendezvous.

“Privet.”

Ludwig turned around sharply, his training as a military official activating as he took a defensive position.

“Wow,” the owner of the voice said. A tall, large figure stepped leisurely closer to the German. “There is no need to be so nervous. Make yourself comfortable. It’s just you and I under beautiful Munich snow in a beautiful Munich night, da?”

“General Ivan Braginsky, is that you?” Ludwig demanded, his voice stern and unrelenting.

“Stop such formalities. We are friends, da?” The Russian was finally visible under the delicate golden streetlight, his thick platinum hair, pasty white skin, large nose, and unreadable purple eyes all presenting themselves to the captain. He wore a long, beige trenchcoat and his signature pinkish-white scarf. Thick leather boots dug through the snow as he held out his hand to the Beilschmidt in friendly greeting, although this meeting, to its core, was not friendly whatsoever.

Nevertheless, Ludwig shook Ivan’s hand and maintained his composure.

“You Germans are so rigid,” Ivan sighed. “Difficult to discuss daily weather and sports news to you.”

“I have no time for frivolous small talk, Mister Braginsky. Has your agency obtained all the materials required?” Ludwig asked, blue eyes narrowing.

“Da, except two. Be patient, Beilschmidt. We will take no more than one week, and that is a very generous estimate,” Ivan informed. His tone of voice never once changed. It retained its menacing, unpredictable amiability.

“And intelligence? What of their progress?” Ludwig asked.

“Not much of significance,” Ivan said. “However, I hear that Mister Augustus Vargas’s troops are expanding exponentially. Mister Jones told me that news has spread to the United States, and that the Canadians up north are also well aware of the Usurpazione. They are theorizing, as North Americans do, but nothing of concern. As a matter of fact, it is particularly in the nature of Americans to concoct absurd stories, predictions, possibilities. They love their sensationalism as much as we Russians love our vodka. So, I assure you, Mister Beilschmidt, that there is no reason for you to be stressed.” His jovial tone lowered a bit, but his smile strengthened. His eyes closed, and he grinned in a close-mouthed, ear-to-ear manner. That habit of Ivan’s had always unsettled Ludwig, as such a smile was not only unnatural and inhuman in appearance, but never faded from Ivan’s face. The Russian was like a statue, one with eyes and ears that knew anyone’s intentions and activities at all times.

“Danke,” Ludwig said. He cleared his throat, the cold Munich air creating a cloud of condensation as he did so. “We will arrange another meeting come spring.”

“Of course. I will set a date around late April to early May and will be sure to inform Secretary Eduard von Bock of our rendezvous. Now, if you may excuse me, I have a conference with Mister Jones and Mister Kirkland this weekend. Dobroy nochi, Captain Beilschmidt.” Ivan bowed while Ludwig saluted.

The blond gave a small nod and muttered monotonously, “Guten nacht, General Braginsky.”

However, as the two were departing, Ivan called, “Ah, Ludwig, I almost forgot!” The German turned around to be met with nothing but a distant silhouette.

“What is it, General?” Ludwig inquired, projecting his voice but not loudly enough to arouse the locals.

Ivan continued walking.

The captain’s brows furrowed in confusion, and he stepped forward to pursue the Russian official until he was met with an ominously, dreadfully, terrifying good-natured warning:

“Don’t try to challenge me. Let’s stay friends forever, da?”

 

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ludwig, alongside his brother Gilbert, have a meeting with an American, an Englishman, a Frenchman, a Russian, and a Canadian upon returning to his manor.
> 
> Feliciano plans a welcoming night for Ludwig, but it ends disastrously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys im SO SORRY for being late. im, like, a month late or sumn? it's cuz i was stalling on the latter half of this chapter; i didnt rlly know what to do w it at first.
> 
> and then finals kicked in and fucked me in the ass. im not usually to worried or stressed abt school, but finals were driving me crazy. i was also experiencing some friend drama which was rlly pissing me off as well and putting me in a bad mood 24/7.
> 
> BUT CHAPTER 3 IS FINALLY HERE. after this chapter, im excited, since imma set up stuff w ivan, develop their relationship, and reveal a SHIT TON abt what augustus and the beilschmidts are fighting abt (hint: it's representative of the rose in beauty and the beast and is what makes ludwig "the beast" in this fic). im also gonna develop spamano a bit more and start a blossoming romance between pruhun and HEAVILY hint at fruk. i'll try to put rochu in this fic as well if i can. i also rlly wanna make ameripan a thing; i'll figure how i'll incorporate that ship into my fic eventually.
> 
> DONT FORGET TO FOLLOW MY INSTAGRAM @hetalinut FOR HETALIA POSTS AND OCCASIONAL UPDATES ON THIS FANFICTION!
> 
> thank u guys sm for waiting and im soooo sorry once again for being late w this update!
> 
> auf wiedersehen

The morning of Captain Ludwig’s return was unbearably hectic.

As per usual, Elizabeta was the first to wake up. And, unlike other mornings, she was vehement on awaking Feliciano as well. She had managed to rouse the rest of the servants, although Roderich had woken up on his own from all of the noise, before she finally managed to shake Feliciano awake with all her might.

The workers hastily donned their uniforms and attempted to make their hair and faces look moderately presentable with the limited preparation time they had, but most efforts proved to be futile as the servants filed out of their quarters in hurry and clamor. Even Lovino was focused and didn’t utter a single word of complaint.

Feliciano managed to catch a glimpse of the grandfather clock on his way down the main staircase and read the time as 4:30 A.M. The boy’s heart nearly tore its way out of his chest. He had never woken that early before in his entire life! As a matter of fact, the young Italian couldn’t have even fathomed rising at such an ungodly hour!

Nevertheless, they slaved away until four in the afternoon preparing the manor and a grand feast. Roderich had informed the group prior that Gilbert Beilschmidt would be arriving to the manor alongside Ludwig, as well as a few important political and military figures (the same ones who had arrived over a week ago) whose names and titles Feliciano couldn’t recall. Although, he did remember them being foreign and neither German nor Italian—one Russian and his Baltic subordinates, one American, one Englishman, and one Frenchman. There was to be another visitor, but Feli couldn’t recollect his nationality.

The massive feast—which was to consist of dishes of German, Russian, American, British, and French culture—was prepared, the mansion was spic and span, the flower bushes and shrubs in the gardens were trimmed and styled into intricate designs, and Roderich adorned his best suit and tie to welcome the foreign guests and the Beilschmidts.

By the time of the captain’s arrival, Feliciano’s hands were sore and throbbing from the hours he spent in the kitchen. His clothes were riddled with ingredients and stains, and his auburn hair was a tangled mess (more so than usual).

Lovino emitted a gargantuan yawn as he stretched every limb on his body. Wearily, he muttered, “Stupid potato German bastard, making us work for almost twelve hours straight.”

While Lovino and the others groaned and grumbled in fatigue, Feliciano escaped into his quarters with other means of welcoming the captain’s return on his mind.

Despite his anxious thoughts, Feliciano decided to take the risk. He couldn’t live another day in that mansion wondering if Ludwig hated him or lost interest in him.

Feliciano wanted to please the captain, and that was what he was going to do no matter what.

He returned to the pantry where the others were and pushed past to the front of the crowd, Lovino reprimanding, “Aye, bastard, watch your step here. You almost stepped on my foot, idiota.” Antonio was quick to calm him down.

From the pantry window, Feliciano could see Roderich, with his head bowed down, opening the door of the black car at the front. Ludwig, clad in his uniform and a large black trenchcoat, stepped out of the vehicle followed by an unfamiliar-looking silver-haired man. The man was shorter than Ludwig, the tip of his head reaching just the bottom of Ludwig’s ear. He had strangely colored eyes, almost indigo. The stranger wore the same attire as Ludwig, but more nonchalantly. The buttons and tie were looser, the trenchcoat hanging off one of those shoulders apathetically.

As Ludwig and the silver-haired guest removed their leather gloves, Roderich made his way to the other black cars. From the first black car behind Ludwig’s were two recognizable men. One of them was taller than the other by a whole head, with strong, youthful looks, a pair of glasses, and quite messy blond hair. His eyes were blue like Ludwig’s, only his were more saturated and bright in color whereas Ludwig’s were icier and paler. The other man that accompanied him had a familiar pair of bushy, unkempt dark eyebrows and good posture. He adjusted his tie and removed his top hat, revealing a mop of blond hair almost as messy as his taller companion’s.

In the next black car was a tall and beautiful man in extravagant blue and red clothes. His trousers were ruby red, unlike the bleak, earthy green tones or navy blue the other men wore. The man’s coat was also longer than the other’s, spreading out from the center and reaching his knees. The coat was a rich shade of royal blue, accompanied by a matching capelet draped over his shoulders. His dirty blond hair was shoulder-length, glistening under the dying sunlight. Even so, his most notable feature was his stubble, which contrasted the clean-shaven appearances of his comrades.

The next and last car contained a group of people. At their lead was another familiar person with a familiar tan-beige long coat and thick pinkish-white scarf around his neck. However, the others from that car were not familiar to Feliciano. One man hardly looked over the age of fifteen, appearing significantly shorter than even Feli himself. He had disheveled ashy blond hair and an uneasy look in his bright blue eyes. The next man was of normal height. He was taller and scrawny with square glasses and dark blond hair that laid flatly on his head. The final man was the tallest of the trio, with caramel brown hair long enough to reach the center of his neck. He had bangs parted in the middle and seemed to have a decently strong build.

The group of men were following Roderich’s lead into the Beilschmidt manor until the guest with bushy eyebrows halted everyone else. He pointed to the car he arrived in and the men exchanged a few words before Roderich rushed to the car and opened the door.

“Did they forget him?” Lili asked.

Basch scoffed. “Likely. He’s the Canadian, I bet.”

“Canadian? There was a Canadian coming?” Antonio inquired.

Elizabeta stifled laughter as she responded, “Of course, silly! It’s just that their representative is too friendly and sometimes even shy, so people forget about him.”

“But isn’t he the son of a Canadian minister? Why would he be shy?” Feliciano wondered.

“Sheltered and overshadowed by Alfred, I suppose,” Elizabeta replied, shrugging.

“I feel bad for him,” Feliciano admitted. He looked down at the Canadian, who had a stray curl protruding from the top of his head in a similar manner to Lovino’s. His hair was the same shade of blond as Alfred’s, only longer and more wavy. He wore a large pair of glasses and a long tan arctic parka with a fur-trimmed collar, matched with dark brown breeches and leather boots.

“Why? What is it this time?” Lovino grumbled with folded arms.

“It must really hurt to be ignored and disregarded all the time. I bet that Canadian tries his best to impress and help his allies, too. And from the looks of it, he seems like a kind man,” Feliciano answered.

“How in the hell can you tell that someone is nice by their looks, especially from a pantry window, idiota?” Lovino sneered.

“His eyes. And he doesn’t seem angry that Mister Roderich and the others forgot him at all. And he has a gentle smile. See?” Feliciano pointed at the blond.

“Whatever. You’re so childish, bastardo fratello,” Lovino said as he stepped away from the pantry. “I’m going back to sleep. You lot can stay out here acting all stupid as much as you want. Buonanotte.”

 

“Excuse me, sir!”

Roderich’s head jerked back as Arthur Kirkland pointed indignantly into the window of his black car. “You forgot somebody,” the Englishman said.

“Oh! Silly me. My apologies, Captain,” Roderich said.

He rushed to the car door and out stepped a blond man almost identical to Arthur’s American companion, Alfred F. Jones. However, his hair was longer and styled much more neatly.

Ludwig stepped forward to shake the Canadian’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mister…”

“Matthew Williams,” the Canadian responded with a kind smile.

“Ah, forgive me,” Ludwig said. “A pleasure to meet you, Mister Williams.”

“This place looks so nice, Cap!” Alfred commented boisterously. He adjusted his glasses to obtain a better view of the mansion. “Didn’t know you Germans had so much architectural skills! Nothin’ on Lady Liberty, though.”

“Danke, Mister Jones,” Ludwig said.

“What does that mean?” Alfred asked.

“It means ‘thank you’ in German, you dimwit!” Arthur scolded.

“I must agree,” Francis added, joining the conversation. The Frenchman brushed his golden locks over his shoulder before saying, “And such wondrous gardens! So much vibrancy and color that I could only experience in my most fantastical dreams!”

“I like the brick wall,” Ivan said from the back of the group as Roderich opened both of the large doors and gestured for the men to enter.

“Why would you like a brick wall, dude? You could see brick walls anywhere in America. Don’t they have brick walls in Russia, Braginsky?” Alfred asked.

“Da, we do have brick walls in the Motherland. But I still find them beautiful nonetheless,” Ivan retorted.

Before Alfred could reply, Francis (more cautiously) asked the Russian, “But what is it about a brick wall that you find alluring, General Braginsky?”

“I am delighted that you would ask, comrade,” Ivan said, “Why, it is the power it flaunts. It could crush and divide anyone it wishes.”

“My, that is a bit morbid, isn’t it?” Francis gasped. But, as if he were fearful of insulting the Russian, he quickly added, “Although, morbidity is oftentimes beautiful. After all, it is in the eye of the beholder in which beauty truly dwells.”

Roderich seated the men at the large dining table, Ludwig at the center. The feast was already laid out on the marble by Elizabeta and Laura.

The bespectacled butler was turning to leave the occasion until Gilbert stopped him in his tracks. “Oy, Roderich,” the German called.

Gilbert had visited Ludwig’s estate many times prior and encountered the butler during all of his stays. Despite their relations being initially tense and quite hostile on Roderich’s part (who had found Gilbert’s abrasive attitude and tumultuous habits unappealing and a pain to work with), the two had strangely grown rather close. Whenever Gilbert would pay his little brother a visit, he’d always start a conversation with Roderich and the men would converse about events that had occurred in each other’s lives.

“What is it, Gilbert?” Roderich asked, his tone less formal toward the German than it was toward others.

“Could you play the piano while we’re talking? I’ve missed your music, Bruder,” Gilbert requested with a smile. The older Beilschmidt had a tendency to refer to men close to him as ‘bruder,’ regardless of whether they actually were his brother or not.

Curtly nodding, Roderich strode over to his piano and began playing one of his favorite pieces.

“Have you heard the news of that Augustus fellow?” Alfred inquired, digging into his plate. “News sure has reached the States.”

“Of course I have,” Ludwig answered. “He has made it very clear to Germany, and particularly the Beilschmidts, what he wants from us and why.”

“And what will you do about it, may I ask?” Arthur queried. “After all, you can’t keep the secret from your people forever. Truth has a way of revealing itself to the public, especially since you are an important figure with a lot of influence.”

“I suppose,” Ludwig agreed. “Although I understand the importance of being transparent with the German people, I am concerned as to how they would react to such a revelation. I am also uncertain regarding Sir Vargas’s response to any statement I make, if I make any. I doubt he would cease his operations.”

“Then what will you do? Continue killing rebels? Continue allowing them to kill German civilians?” Arthur interrogated.

“The German military is doing what it can to minimize Augustus’s efforts and, therefore, the amount of civilian casualties. I also highly doubt that Vargas is targeting civilians and would intentionally terrorize them. It is the Beilschmidts he is after,” Ludwig explained.

“Of course, it’s always us,” Gilbert complained. “Good ol’ Vatti couldn’t keep his hands to himself and decided to fuck us all over. He was a good commander, but he made a shit decision when he fucked with Vargas.”

“He did what was best for Germany at the time. The people were starving, cold, ill, and destitute,” Ludwig reasoned. “Nonetheless, I think increased support from England and the United States, ah, and Canada, in regards to supplies would best suit the military. We’ll be better armed to fight off Augustus and feed any citizens affected by the conflict. Russian and French allegiance to the Usurpazione will continue to be combated by Russian and French law enforcement until further notice.”

“So, that’s it?” Arthur said. “Just keep staying in the defensive until Germany falls apart?”

“It’s nothing like that,” Ivan interjected, his smile wider than it has been since arrival. “Ludwig and I are good friends. We made a deal!”

“What sort of deal did you concoct this time, Braginsky?” Alfred narrowed his eyes, a dot of sauce staining his uniform.

“Russia has the same secret as Germany, da?” Ivan said. “My good friend and I will combine our little secrets together in Siberia. Silly Vargas will have no choice but to surrender or get himself killed by General Winter and what we create.” Ivan made a crushing motion with his thumb and index finger, his face maintaining its serene, cordial smile.

“But that’s too risky!” Francis protested. “Something like that has never been done before!”

“It is the only option we have, aside from allowing this conflict to continue or letting the German people starve,” Ludwig responded.

Alfred, for once, set down his utensils and focused his attention on the discussion. “Listen, Cap,” the American said, “What you stole has been around since the Roman Empire’s infancy. Since ol’ Emperor Augustus was around. It’s been passed down generation to generation. From the days of Rome, to the Middle Ages, to the Renaissance, and to now. Until your dad, Aldrich, stole it, it belonged to the Vargas family. It has been theirs, and Italy’s, since it was created. You don’t expect Augustus to give it up without a fight?”

“Then let him take his little game to Siberia,” Ivan answered for Ludwig.

“And run the risk of losing a battle to him? Do you not know how strong Augustus is? He’s a Vargas, you buffoon!” Arthur snapped. Although the others were usually wary of their demeanors when addressing General Ivan, Arthur hardly let his fear toward the man show despite the fact that he was just as afraid of Ivan’s power as everyone else.

Ivan’s smile didn’t waver even slightly after Arthur’s admonish. As a matter of fact, it only widened and increased in intensity as the general responded, “I would never lose to an old man like that.”

“Besides, it’s his army against ours,” Ludwig added, clearing the tension between Ivan and Arthur. “Germany and Russia combined outnumber his forces dramatically, and besides, the man is an Italian, born and raised. He isn’t adapted to colder climates like Germans and Russians are. And Siberia is about as cold as it gets for a European country.”

“Man, for a country so close to Germany, Italy sure differs in climate,” Alfred yawned. “But yeah, I’ll tell my boss to continue sending support to Germany.”

“How long will your stay in Germany be?” Gilbert asked.

“For all of us, about a week,” Alfred said. “Got meetings with a shit ton of other people over here.”

“Not for me,” Ivan said.

The entire table turned their attention toward the Russian, whose smile had stubbornly remained on his face.

“Then how long are you staying?” Alfred inquired.

“My stay here has been long enough, so I will depart the day after tomorrow. I had another meeting not too long ago with a very dear friend of mine,” Ivan explained.

Ludwig’s jaw clenched, and his grip on his fork tightened.

“I love making friends in Germany. They’re all very loyal and obedient,” Ivan said.

 

It was already dark when Feliciano saw the black cars exiting. As expected, the bespectacled Canadian with wavy hair was nearly forgotten in the manor until the small Englishman hastily informed the others of his absence.

Aw, I doubt he even spoke at all today. I feel so bad for him. Hopefully we can be friends soon, Feliciano thought.

But thoughts of the Canadian and everyone else were soon pushed to the back of his mind as he began pacing in front of the large metal doors leading to Ludwig’s private quarters.

While Feli was pacing anxiously, various thoughts crossed his mind:

What if he isn’t happy with me here?

Should I just go back to the others?

But what excuse will I give them then? I already told them I was going to take a walk in the gardens, so how will I explain my early return?

Would Lovino be suspicious of me?

Or would Miss Elizabeta be suspicious of me?

Mio dio, if anyone questions me, I’ll for sure crack under the pressure! I’m such a bad liar.

And if Lovino finds out, he will hate me forever! He was always so loyal to nonno, and if he realizes that I fell for a German, and not just any German, but a Beil—

“What are you doing here?” Ludwig asked.

Feliciano nearly jumped out of his trousers and stumbled on his words before answering with an underwhelming “Ve…”

“What?”

“Oh, um, sorry,” Feliciano muttered. “I just wanted to welcome you back, Ludwig! I missed you this past week, and, um, you didn’t send me a letter yesterday, so I was a bit sad, and...um...so I decided to meet you here to welcome you back.”

Ludwig didn’t respond for a while. His expression remained indifferent and aloof, which worried the Italian. Did Ludwig really lose interest in him? Or worse, did he hate him?

Finally, Ludwig murmured a half-hearted, “Danke, Feliciano.”

The German pushed past Feliciano and effortlessly opened the large doors. Upon realizing that the auburn-haired servant had followed him in, Ludwig turned around and raised an eyebrow at the boy.

Feliciano knew that he must’ve been a nuisance to Ludwig by now, but he feigned ignorance nonetheless and upheld his blissful smile, continuing to prance behind Ludwig giddily.

Eventually, the blond sighed in defeat and said, “Fine. You can stay with me temporarily. But I don’t want to raise anyone’s suspicions, so you have to return to the servant’s quarters before one in the morning. Understood?”

“Roger, Captain!” Feliciano saluted enthusiastically.

When the two men entered Ludwig’s room, the Italian hopped onto the firm mattress and rested his head contentedly against Ludwig’s upholstered pillow. “I missed this place…” he murmured with a yawn.

After Ludwig turned around to manage his paperwork, Feliciano found his opportunity to wrap his slender arms around the German’s broad shoulders in a longing embrace.

“I’ve missed you so much, Ludwig…” he finally admitted, lips quivering.

“You have?” Ludwig asked. Despite the professional, cold tone Ludwig attempted, Feliciano could have sworn he heard the captain’s voice crack slightly.

“And I’ve been so worried about you, too,” Feliciano added, ignoring Ludwig’s question.

“Why would you be worried? I’m a Beilschmidt. Nobody will hurt me, especially not in Germany, my homeland,” Ludwig reasoned, his voice softening without his realizing it.

“But that’s exactly why I was worried for you,” Feliciano clarified. He embrace tightened, as if he were fearful that Ludwig would fade away at any moment or push him away. The Italian didn’t know which outcome would be worse.

Like a mantra, Ludwig repeated what he said before. However, he struggled to articulate his words clearly, as if they were stuck in his throat or nothing but empty air. “I’m...I’m a Beilschmidt,” he said. Then he added, “No—Nobody will...will hurt me. Especially not—”

But Feliciano cut him off by turning him around and pressing a gentle, desperate kiss to his lips. “You’re scaring me; stop that,” he said. “I don’t like it when people talk like that.”

“Talk like what?”

“I don’t like it when people talk like they’re not people. Nonno used to talk like he wasn’t a person too. Did you know that? It made me so upset. Nonno didn’t always talk like that. He used to talk like everybody else. He used to talk about parties, celebrations, his passions, and beautiful women. He used to tell stories to Lovi and me to help us sleep better. But he stopped. He started to sound like he wasn’t a person anymore,” Feliciano said. Then, in a voice so silent it was hardly a whisper, Feli added, “I don’t want you to be like Nonno. He looked so sad. So weak.”

“Feli…”

Ludwig carried the Italian gently onto his mattress, whispering his name repeatedly. He had no other words for Feliciano; he didn’t know what to say. Despite being one of the most renowned and powerful people in Europe—despite being a Beilschmidt—Ludwig could not bring himself to say anything but Feliciano’s name.

The brunette wanted to protest but bit his lip instead. He wanted Ludwig, and he was sure Ludwig also wanted him. After all, Ludwig wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t, right?

Like the last time they had slept together, Ludwig prepared him, but his actions were rough and unrestrained. Feliciano admittedly didn’t like that feeling; it was completely foreign from the bliss he had experienced last time and imagined he’d experience when Ludwig was in Munich.

Feliciano didn’t like the way his body stung and recoiled in pain whenever Ludwig thrust within him, or the way he was a slave to every vicious movement that occurred. At times, the German’s hold on his body would be too rough, and his skin would burn. They changed positions multiple times, and although Feliciano occasionally managed to find some sort of comfort, he mainly felt nothing but dizziness, stinging, and numbness in areas where Ludwig was too harsh.

Eventually, the auburn-haired Italian had enough and cried, “You’re hurting me!”

Ludwig halted instantly. He backed away from the Italian, who in turn lay limp on the bed, hiding his face from Ludwig in both embarrassment and shame.

The blond struggled to articulate, stuttering whenever he tried to speak to Feliciano. He managed to repeat flustered apologies before hurrying off his own bed, stiffly clothing himself, and adjusting the collar of his white button-up.

For a second, Feliciano felt rather guilty. Ludwig was absolutely embarrassed, every movement of his being jagged and messy. He stuttered every other word, and Feli could see even in the dim amber lighting that his face was redder than any tomato he’d seen back in Italy.

But any guilt washed away when Ludwig, at last, regained some of his composure. He cleared his throat and said in a stern, commanding tone, “Get out.”

He was facing away from Feliciano, and his shoulders were slightly slumped. The Italian did not want to leave without settling things, however, and replied, “I...I’m sorry, Ludwig. I didn’t mean to be so harsh earlier. I was just really scared but also really excited to see you, and I was really sad and scared that you were changing or would change and, um, I didn’t want to lose you since I really cared about you, and, um, after the night we spent together I figured that—”

Ludwig turned around sharply with the most intense and authoritative stare Feliciano had ever witnessed, and he immediately murmured a million sorries before scrambling like a mortified rabbit out of the captain’s chambers.

That night, Feliciano cried himself to sleep.

 

“Ahhh! Bonjour, Captain! What are you doing meeting me at such a lovely cafe during a busy time? Miss me?” Francis Bonnefoy exclaimed as he sipped his latte.

About a week had passed since Ludwig’s situation with Feliciano, and after days of not hearing from the Italian and feeling a discomfort within his own manor’s walls, Ludwig resorted to meeting the Frenchman at a quaint cafe during his free hours.

“Nein, it’s nothing like that,” Ludwig exasperatedly retorted. “I’m amidst a crisis right now, and I figured that someone like you would come up with the most appropriate solutions,” the German explained.

“Oh? What sort of crisis would drive a strong, mighty, dignified German captain, who is also the son of General Aldrich Beilschmidt, such as yourself to seek assistance from someone such as myself? Of course, I am among the most beautiful and sought-after men to ever grace Europe, but how would that concern yourself?” Francis interrogated, his grin sly.

“There’s someone that I like,” Ludwig responded, plain and simple.

“Oh? I thought feelings such as that didn’t exist for you,” Francis commented.

Ignoring the Frenchman’s remarks, Ludwig continued with his explanation. “She’s a girl that I’ve only gotten to know recently. She’s a foreigner from Italy, whose family has been affected by the conflict between Germany and Augustus Vargas. If I recall properly, she was born in Verona, in the northern half of Italy. She came to Germany when she was very young, so she’s as much German as anyone else residing in this country. She has hair the color of bright cedar wood with curls that bounce freely every time she moves. Her smile could disarm the best militaries in the history of mankind, from the days of the Roman Empire to now. She’s a person who cares and has a love for all forms of life, whether it is a cockroach or the wealthiest man on Earth. But I’m afraid...I’m afraid that I’ve scared her away.”

The Veronian girl that Ludwig spoke of was, evidently, Feliciano. He didn’t want to take a gamble with his reputation and reveal to Francis that he liked a man, no matter how understanding Francis was. Besides, liking an Italian man was close to treason in Germany.

Francis’s expression finally changed. His once cocky and teasing attitude transformed into a sympathetic and attentive one. Leaning in closer, his brows turned up in concern, the Frenchman asked, “How so? Please don’t tell me you harmed her.”

“Nein, nein, nein, I’d never,” Ludwig said. Then, he reconsidered. Feliciano did say that Ludwig was hurting him. But Ludwig would never intentionally harm Feliciano in any way. He even vowed to himself to never lay a hand on the man. “I was too harsh with her in terms of—in terms of—I suppose, emotions. And I pushed her away. Treated her the same way I’d treat a private, so to speak, but perhaps worse because of how blinded and flustered I was.”

Francis sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. He took another sip of his latte before finally saying something. “You should start by apologizing to her. Find the time when you can and when she’s available,” Francis said. “And don’t send her a letter or call her or send one of your privates to tell her that. It only strengthens the wall you built between you and her, and it could perhaps intimidate her even more.”

“Then...what should I say to make my apology something that she’d, um, accept? I genuinely feel remorseful, but I don’t know how to properly express that. Something like this was never taught to me, although Gilbert has tried to educate me on such matters I never had an interest in until now,” Ludwig said.

Francis clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Such inexperience from a handsome and strong man of such powerful background such as yourself should be illegal!” he exclaimed. “But if you really need my advice on what words to say to her, like a script, then I’ll tell you.”

“Bitte. I don’t have all day to spend being scolded by you for my so-called ‘inexperience’,” Ludwig grumbled.

“Firstly, Captain Beilschmidt,” Francis said, “you need to show her that you have nothing to gain from speaking to her. You need to show her that you’re vulnerable! Don’t come in your fancy little German uniform; don’t come when you’re surrounded by your men or anything of the sort.

“When you come to her, try not to flatter her with gifts or anything. You’re apologizing to her, not courting her.

“Don’t over-exaggerate on your facial expressions or tone of voice. That would be too theatrical, and any sane human would immediately recognize faulty acting when they see it! Just let yourself speak, and if you are truly genuine, she’ll comprehend it.

“Don’t get defensive, and don’t try to shift the blame either. Explain how you felt without pointing fingers at anything or anyone else and without being too aggressive. Tell her that you understand you were wrong to do whatever you did. Accept that you made a mistake and why you know what you did hurt her emotionally.”

While Francis was giving his lecture, Ludwig was avidly taking mental notes in his head. He felt like a student at a prestigious university receiving a lesson in applied mathematics or physics from a professor. He tried his best to memorize everything Francis told him and envision those scenarios.

“Danke, Francis. You’re a true friend,” Ludwig said after their talk was finished.

“But wait!” Francis called before the German stood up. “Tell me about this Italian girl. She seems like such a wondrous woman, a goddess sent from the heavens!”

Ludwig paused for a moment. He couldn’t reveal too many details about Feliciano (or the supposed Veronian woman) to Francis, so he needed to be cautious with his words. “She’s the daughter of a tavern owner, I believe,” Ludwig said. “I don’t remember which tavern it was, but I remember their meals being the best in all of Berlin. She helps him cook and serve to guests, and she’s especially kind to the poorer ones. She allows beggars small meals from time to time.”

“She sounds like a hardworking and charitable lady, the love of your life,” Francis smiled, his voice soft. “I bet if I had met her instead, I would’ve asked her to go on a date with me immediately. Whisk her away from that tavern all the way to Paris.”

Ludwig wished he could whisk Feliciano away from Germany. Perhaps not to a city like Paris, where opinions on the conflict were strong, and he—and likely even Feli—would be easily recognized no matter what disguise he donned. Maybe to Switzerland in a tranquil countryside village or atop lush hills with grass greener than an emerald and flowers every color of the rainbow. Or he could take Feliciano to Scandinavia, where small, welcoming homes sat close together wearing coats of pure white snow under a colorful night sky.

But he knew he could never do such a thing. He had a duty: a duty to Germany, Gilbert, and Aldrich. To his title as both a captain and a Beilschmidt. To ending the conflict with Augustus Vargas. To keeping the German population safe and well. To following through with Ivan Braginsky’s plan.

“I would’ve too,” Ludwig whispered, his voice cracking like fire. “We both know I cannot.”

“What would she say, I wonder?” Francis said, his eyes peering out of the window at a group of passing ladies in modest yet elegant dresses, a wistful smile on his face. “Would she accept?”

“I think she would want to leave as much as I do,” Ludwig admitted, still thinking of Feliciano, who would definitely want to escape the cage of conflict and explore not only Europe, but the rest of the world.

“Then maybe one day you will be able to take her elsewhere,” Francis suggested, a faint, fragile hope.

“Elsewhere,” Ludwig said, more to himself than to Francis. “She’d like that. She’s never seen the world aside from Italy and one city in Germany.”

“Take her elsewhere. No matter when, no matter what it may take,” Francis said.

“I will,” Ludwig said. “I’ll take her. One day, I’ll take her elsewhere.”

Elsewhere.

That word echoed in Ludwig’s mind, like a distant yearning that he could not truly grasp.

 

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions arise, more is told about the conflict, Ludwig and Feliciano reconcile, and Alfred is staying with the Beilschmidts for a while (and takes an interest in Kiku).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankfully, this chapter isn't too long or short and im satisfied w the size. the lore turned out MUCH more complicated that i had initially anticipated, especially since i wanted it to be a less childish version of beauty and the beast and only base things off it loosely. i like my stories to make sense from a realistic and pragmatic standpoint, but doing so w magic is admittedly rlly hard for me, especially if the magic is based off a story that already exists! im not rlly a magic person, i prefer more realistic, scientific, and grounded stories (although sci-fi admittedly scares me), so fantasy is a bit difficult! so im sorry if the exposition was just dumped on u and i shoulda spent more time w the world and allow my characters (and consequently, my readers) to explore and come to care for the world more (which i will do in coming chapters)! ALSO, DONT FORGET TO FOLLOW MY INSTAGRAM, @HETALINUT, FOR FANFIC UPDATES AND HETALIA POSTS! i have another fic coming up rlly soon too. props to my editor and bff for editing this for me and telling me if some things dont make sense and making the grammar the best it can be! follow her on instagram too @pabuttego she makes hetalia posts but shes not as active. thx for reading and i hope u enjoy! auf wiedersehen x

Ludwig had spent the week following his rendezvous with Francis Bonnefoy busying himself with work. He stationed commanders in various locations throughout Germany, contacted spies in Italy, exchanged countless phone calls with Ivan Braginsky, and promoted a few officers to higher ranks and sent them to subdue Augustus Vargas’s efforts.

But when Ludwig wasn’t busying himself, he rehearsed hypothetical apologies to Feliciano, even going as far as writing a hypothetical script. He wrote what he thought Feliciano would say and planned his responses. Eventually, he became frustrated with himself for scheming an apology as if it were a mission and threw the script away.

Then, he went into the market to buy some flowers. He figured Feliciano would like heliotropes since they appeared often in Greek mythology, and he assumed Feliciano was the type that loved mythology. The bouquet was quite expensive, but it was hardly a dent in his inheritance, and he wouldn’t mind buying an entire city if it were for Feliciano.

Finally, the day had come. He had decided to apologize to Feliciano.

 

It was late at night, and Ludwig was hoping that Feliciano had received the message from him requesting that they meet beneath the dying willow tree atop the northernmost hill on the field surrounding the southern point of Ludwig’s estate.

He had worn his most modest outfit: a tan coat with a simple button-up and plain dark brown trousers. He hugged the bouquet of heliotropes close to his chest, exhaled, and straightened his back.

Ludwig opened the door, but Gilbert’s cheeky grin and all-knowing reddish eyes greeted him. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

“ _Mein Gott_ , Gilbert,” Ludwig hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been acting suspicious lately. Trying to finish your duties quicker than usual, walking around all sullen and anxious-looking. I decided to come by to ask if you are well, and here you are, dressed all decently and ready to leave. Where are you off to?” Gilbert leaned closer to his little brother, literally poking his nose into the captain’s business.

Ludwig didn’t respond. He simply glared at his older brother.

Gilbert didn’t need Ludwig to answer anyway. He already had the answer for himself. “You know, while I was wandering these halls, I saw a little familiar Italian boy running up one of the hills in your field out the window. Isn’t it ironic that you’re preparing to leave and wearing such warm clothing with a bouquet of flowers? Expensive-looking flowers too, might I add,” Gilbert said.

Ludwig sighed. His head dipped, and his posture slacked. There was no point in upholding his prideful and obstinate front; Gilbert had already figured him out before the exchange even started. “I know that he’s the grandson of Augustus Vargas,” Ludwig began, his tone steady. “But I—”

“You’ve fallen for him, is that it?” Gilbert interrupted. To Ludwig’s astonishment, his older brother’s face didn’t read as angered nor disappointed or worried. He seemed...sympathetic.

“I don’t know if ‘fallen’ is the correct term, but I suppose I have, to a degree,” Ludwig admitted.

“Does he know?” Gilbert asked.

“Know what?” Ludwig questioned, his wariness increasing. He knew where this conversation was going, and he was not ready for it.

“Why he’s here in the first place? What the Beilschmidts and Vargases are fighting over? Why what we’re fighting over is so important? What it’s doing to you?” Gilbert spoke quickly, his words sharper than a steel needle.

“No. That doesn’t matter,” Ludwig said, shaking his head in denial.

“He’s here because without a Vargas, that thing—that lily—will kill you, and then me, and any other individual with significant Beilschmidt blood. Then it’ll bring Germany into a famine that could last for even decades and return to Augustus where it belongs. Stealing that thing has, quite literally, cursed us. Do you not understand that if you return him to his grandfather, you will die?” Gilbert asked. “That thing is aware. It knows. It hates what Aldrich did.”

“He did what he did to save Germany from dying. Our people were starving, infertile, sick. It was his only option,” Ludwig argued.

“And look where that brought us,” Gilbert folded his arms and leaned against the frame of Ludwig’s door, defeated.

“And if we give the flower back to Italy, Germany will be right back to where she was before Aldrich claimed it. Starving, sick, freezing, and decaying as a result of the war,” Ludwig said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Gilbert chuckled a sad, tired chuckle. “I pity poor Italy. Being the only country with a flower that could bring the most fertile land, water like honey, abundance of diverse living things of all shapes and sizes, sun that beamed like real gold, and clear, cloudless skies. That’s the thing about magic, isn’t it? Italy became too reliant on it, and over time, that flower devoured any natural fertility the country had so that without it, Italy may die.”

Ludwig didn’t answer. Ever since the days of Ancient Rome, Europe had only known that lily to belong to Italy. Nobody knew anything else about it, simply that it existed and belonged to the country in which Rome resided.

“Feliciano...he will be so hurt. So much of his country has died because of what we did. So much war and conflict over a flower.” Ludwig’s grip on the bouquet tightened, his nails digging into the stems.

Gilbert nodded his head in agreement. “I can’t even blame Augustus for going to such great lengths to retrieve that flower. That thing is so powerful. Anyone would want their hands on it. Besides, nobody has known an Italy without that flower. So who can guess what would happen to the country once the lily is absent for too long?”

When Ludwig didn’t answer, Gilbert smiled warmly.

“What do you do if you’ve fallen for the enemy whose country you’ve cursed?” Ludwig said. His voice was quiet, but retained its usual authority.

“Don’t let him know. Just...give him that bouquet. Hug him, kiss him. Pretend that your love for him is the only thing in the world that should concern you, but only for tonight. Make it count.”

 

“Ludwig?”

Ludwig approached the willow tree, its branches hanging low and lethargically, darkened at the ends by age and time. Quite a contrast to his heliotropes, which blossomed in lavender glory and sprung about playfully.

“I have come to apologize,” Ludwig said. Then, disliking his formal tone, he cleared his throat and clarified, “I’m sorry for hurting you that night.”

“Ludwig—”

“I wasn’t thinking right. I didn’t consider your position or what you thought. I was being so selfish,” Ludwig said. He handed Feliciano the bouquet tentatively. “Heliotropes. They appear so often in Greek mythology, and I assumed that you would be the type to enjoy myths.”

Feliciano’s hand rested on the bouquet. He wordlessly stepped closer and leaned in to sniff the heliotropes. Then, his hand trailed down, reluctantly, to rest atop Ludwig’s. There they remained, softly like a feather, before they strengthened in their grasp, and Feliciano pulled Ludwig toward him. The only thing between them was the bouquet of flowers, slightly squashed between their proximity.

At last, Feliciano’s eyes met Ludwig’s. For a moment, Feli’s visage was unreadable, lost in the seas of blue that were the German’s eyes. The time after that felt to be decades of pure silence and utter uncertainty. Feliciano’s right hand lifted from the bouquet and rested gently upon Ludwig’s cheek. It played with a few stray strands of blond hair until they fell down entirely. Feliciano continued that act until Ludwig’s once slicked-back hair had fallen. The Italian smiled in contentment as his hand trailed down to Ludwig’s chest, gripping the fabric of the tan coat for dear life. He leaned in and pressed his face firmly against the captain’s chest, breathing his scent in. It was so familiar and stable yet so far away, as if Feliciano were dwelling in a dream rather than the waking world.

Then the tears came.

They soaked into the warmth of Ludwig’s coat, but there were so many teardrops that there would likely be a large stain on the fabric.

“Thank you for coming to me,” Feliciano said in barely a choked whisper. “I missed you so much. But you’re here. This is you. You’re human.”

“Me, too, Feliciano,” Ludwig responded. He bit back the tears, dropping the bouquet to the side and reciprocating Feliciano’s embrace. He never realized how small Feli was compared to him. How could such a small person hold so much power and not even be aware of it?

“I thought that I lost you. I thought that you died when you left for Munich and would never come back,” Feliciano cried.

“You thought that I...died?” Ludwig asked, puzzled. “But I’m right here, Feliciano. I’m right here.”

“I know. But war and battles and conflicts kill people. They made Nonno die. He never told stories or sang to Lovi and I before we slept to ensure we’d have good dreams. He never ate dinner with us and helped us cook pasta anymore. He was always gone for days on end, and when he did return, he was usually late and with strange men in strange uniforms and carrying weapons. It was so scary, Ludwig. I was so scared,” Feliciano wept, pulling Ludwig as close as he could, shaking relentlessly.

Ludwig had no answers for Feliciano. The more Feli spoke about how much war has killed his relationship with his grandfather, the more overcome with guilt Ludwig felt.

There was no denying that Feliciano was, technically, the enemy. He and Lovino were the grandchildren of Augustus Vargas, the biggest threat to Germany. If Ludwig were colder, crueler—if he had perceived Feliciano as nothing more than an enemy of the state and a tool to be employed, he wouldn’t hurt so much. He wouldn’t feel so ashamed for playing a part in the conflict that is tearing Feliciano’s family and country apart.

Ludwig wished he and Feliciano were born at a different time. Or he wished that he were born in a different body and mind—one that could hate Feliciano more easily.

“Ludwig,” Feliciano said. He looked up at the blond hesitantly, tears staining his cheeks and forming transparent, glistening streams down his face. “I don’t care if you’re lying, but can you assure me that we’ll get to live happily ever after soon?”

They both knew Ludwig would be lying if he answered yes to that question, but he didn’t have the heart to not lie. Ludwig was already lying enough as it was by keeping so many secrets from Feliciano.

“Yes. One day, I’ll take you elsewhere. I’ll take you to the Swiss alps. I’ll take you to see the Northern Lights in Norway. I’ll show you around Germany, like you wanted. I’ll show you the Greek Isles, and we’ll swim in the water. By then, we won’t be worried about anything else. Your grandfather will love you and Lovino like he always did. He won’t be gone all the time, and he won’t return home seldom, late, or with scary-looking men,” Ludwig assured. For a moment, he almost had himself fooled. But he knew that either he and Gilbert were to die, or Augustus and Italy would. There was no in-between, no possibility of compromise.

“Really? Will we get to see pretty architecture and art and girls?” Feliciano pulled away excitedly, wiping away the remnants of his tears.

Chuckling, Ludwig answered, “Of course we will. And we can eat all the food we want until we get sick.”

They spent about an hour hypothesizing on what to do once the war was over and Europe was well and happy again. Ludwig said he’d always wanted to see Italy and that it was a nation of rich culture, history, cuisine, and architecture. He’d heard stories from soldiers of how beautiful and welcoming the land was.

Feliciano said Germany seemed to be a very organized and structured country. He said the streets seemed really pretty and that Germany was prettiest during the Christmas season, from the postcards and paintings he’d seen. He also wanted to try German wurst and potatoes.

Finally, when Feliciano was tired and yawning his breath away, Ludwig carried him bridal style into the manor and to the servants’ quarters. They kissed each other goodbye passionately, their lips colliding in desperation and longing. They could hardly breathe, only focusing on the way their lips clashed violently together and how their hands roamed every crevice and curve of each other’s bodies, caressing and gripping.

When Ludwig pulled away, Feliciano’s eyes were still dazed with sleepiness and the heat of their kiss. He placed his hand on the side of Feli’s face and admired the way Feliciano fit so perfectly in his hand before pressing a gentle kiss to his lover’s forehead.

“Will I see you again soon?” Feliciano asked with hopeful eyes.

“Of course, liebling. I’ll arrange a time,” Ludwig promised. And he would make sure that promise, at the very least, was not a lie.

“I’m so happy,” Feliciano whispered, biting his bottom lip, fighting hard to suppress oncoming tears. His voice broke, and the tears followed in rapid succession. They rained from his eyes, falling to his feet and the hardwood floor. He hugged himself, resting his forehead on Ludwig’s chest. “I love you so much, Luddy,” Feliciano said. The nickname seemingly came out of nowhere, but Ludwig didn’t mind it in the slightest.

The captain smiled warmly as Feliciano gave him one last, desperate embrace, begging, “Please, Ludwig. Please. Say that you love me, too. It’s okay if you’re lying to me. Just tell me, even once, please…”

Ludwig stopped him. “Feliciano, you’re tired. Get some rest, understood?”

“B-But—”

The blond shook his head. “No buts. Go to sleep, Feliciano,” he commanded.

With that, Feliciano nodded, literally sucking up his tears. He placed one final, quick kiss onto Ludwig’s lips before slipping into the servants’ quarters, his plea for Ludwig’s “I love you, too” unanswered.

 

“Hey, Luddy! Good mornin’ to ya, Cap!” the American ran up the stairs, skipping every other step, to Ludwig and Gilbert, patting the brothers on their shoulders in greeting. “What’s up? How’s it been? I’ve been missing y’all lately and wanted to pay a lil’ visit!”

“Nice to see you, Alfie! Do you need me to fix your uniform again, kid?” Gilbert teased, to which the bespectacled blond frowned.

“That was one time,” Alfred argued. “And I’m not wearing my uniform today, dumbass. I spent most of my spare change in little German shops buying sauerkraut and clothes and shit. Wanted to wear somethin’ comfy instead of that stuffy ol’ uniform.”

“Why would you spend that much money on sauerkraut?” Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temple with his hand in exasperation.

“‘Cause I’m in Germany? Why else? Should I go to England and, like, not buy scones?” Alfred burst out in laughter, doubling over.

Before Ludwig could scold Alfred on his poor money management, a sharp gasp was heard from behind him.

Straightening his uniform and fixing his posture, the Japanese servant who had made that noise quickly stuttered, “S-Sorry for interrupting you, Misters Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt.”

Ludwig wouldn’t blame the man, whose name he remembered was Kiku Honda, for being scared. Rarely did Ludwig interact with his servants, especially since he was usually too busy with his work and had Roderich communicate with them on his behalf instead. He also had quite a reputation among his employees, of course as a result of his intimidating disposition and the fact that Aldrich had practically ripped them from their families so that they could earn a living.

“It’s all right,” Ludwig replied. “Just carry on with your duties.”

Kiku nodded quickly and attempted to walk around the men until Alfred side-stepped in front of the short noirette, obstructing his path entirely.

“Um...Pardon me, Mister…”

“Jones,” Alfred finished. “Actually my full given name is Alfred F. Jones, although I’m not quite sure what the ‘F’ in my name stands for since Mom and Dad died back in good ol’ Texas before they could tell me, and my title would be Captain Jones, but you can just call me Alfred.” Upon finishing his gratuitous introduction, the American flashed a toothy, flashy grin.

Kiku, on the other hand, was speechless at first. He struggled to find words before finally saying, “A pleasure to meet you Captain—um, I mean, Alfred.”

Content, Alfred patted the shorter man on the head. “I’d like to meet you again, buddy. I fortunately will, since I’m saying over for another two weeks. There was an accident at one of the American power plants here, so the boss sent my crew and me over to handle it. I told them that I would just stay here. Hope you don’t mind.”

In unison, the German brothers exclaimed, “You what?!”

“Yeah,” Alfred responded. “You’re dealing with my ass for two weeks. Won’t it be fun? I’ll get to bond with your servants and cook you Germans some traditional American barbecue. Besides, y’all have a shit ton of guest rooms at your disposal since you’re rich and shit and got inheritance from your pops.”

Despite his agitation at the impromptu self-invitation, Ludwig conceited. Where else would Alfred stay during his two weeks in Germany? Besides, the manor was huge and there were servants at any corner, so Alfred’s presence shouldn’t be that much of an annoyance.

“I suppose. In the northeast wing, left corridor, there are two large guest rooms. You can reside there while you’re here,” Ludwig said in defeat.

“Aw, thanks so much, man! And I’ll make sure to hit up that cute Japanese servant most. Can you do that for me, actually? Like, tell ol’ Roderich to tell him to serve me breakfast, dinner, supper*, and any snacks in between? Pretty please?” Alfred’s sky blue eyes shone with a childlike earnest; it was almost endearing.

“Fine,” Ludwig said with an irritated exhale.

Behind him, Gilbert was trying hard to hold back laughter.

 

 

“Hey, Lovi?” Feliciano’s voice rang softly in the dead silence of the servants’ quarters, where his friends all lay sound asleep in the comfort of their beds.

“What is it, _Fratello_? And make it quick. I need some sleep, bastardo,” the older Italian responded, snidely as per usual.

“Have you ever wondered why Ludwig would keep us here?” Feli wondered.

“Because we’re Nonno’s grandchildren and the Beilschmidt family hates Nonno as much as Nonno hates them, idiota. Now get some sleep,” Lovino replied. He shifted in his bed, turning his back to his younger brother. There was a momentary pause before Lovino asked, “Also, since when did you start calling the captain ‘Ludwig’? You were always more terrified of him than anyone else here because of all of the rumors; you’d call him captain. So what prompted this change? Did seeing him that one night sweep you off your feet so bad that you started daydreaming about him as more than an enemy? Stupid little brother. What is it with you and guys who act too tough for their own good, eh? First Friedrich, who broke your heart, and now the enemy? Stop fawning over him, stupido.”

Feliciano’s heart stung a bit at the mention of Friedrich. Not only was he Feli’s first and only love, he left without providing the Italian any closure, any farewell, any guarantees, nor any answers. All he left Feliciano in his absence were memories: bittersweet ones.

“Don’t bring up Friedrich like that. You know I hate it,” Feliciano grumbled, trying to sound as intimidating as he could but failing to sound like anything but a hurt child. “But that’s besides the point,” the brunette continued. “I was wondering...Why does Nonno hate the Beilschmidts so much? He never told us anything except that they stole from the Italian people and incited this conflict themselves.”

“Probably because he thought we were too stupid to understand. Likely annoying politics. Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep, bastard,” Lovino ordered. And with an angry grunt, the older Italian pulled his blanket to his chin and tightly wrapped himself in the sheets.

Lovi always worried too much about his apathetic facade. Around women, he’d pretend he was the strongest, most capable, and most charming man in all of Europe. Around other men, he’d try to act as tough and intimidating as possible. He always pretended to care less than he genuinely did. But Feliciano knew that his older brother was just as confused, just as worried, and just as unsure as he was.

Feliciano certainly wanted to know more, but he knew that any questioning he attempted would’ve been futile.

 

To be continued…

* Breakfast, dinner, and supper: Back in the day, people didn’t always say “breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” Although supper and dinner are synonymous today, dinner used to mean lunch and supper used to mean dinner (whereas breakfast meant the same thing). Examples of this could be seen in, for example, Harper Lee’s _To Kill a Mockingbird_. Also, to add to this, this fic occurs in what would be considered Europe in the 1920s today, although it’s an alternate history and fantasy AU. Hope that clears things up!


End file.
